“I cannot endure it,” she cried to herself a dozen times before
morning. “I shall go mad if I have to see his face and hear his
voice and feel that he is looking at me. There must be a way to
escape from this place, there must be a way. I will risk anything to
get away from him!”
At breakfast she did not see him; he had eaten earlier with Lord
Bob. The others noted the hunted look in her eye and saw that she
had passed a sleepless night. The most stupendous of Dickey's
efforts to enliven the dreary table failed, and there was utter
collapse to the rosy hopes they had begun to build. Her brain was
filled by one great thought--escape. While they were jesting she was
wondering how and where she could find the underground passages of
which they had spoken and to what point they would lead.
“I'd give a round sum if I could grow a set of whiskers as readily
and as liberally as Turk,” commented Dickey, sadly. “He came out of
Phil's room this morning, and I dodged behind a door post, thinking
he was a burglar. Turk looks like a wild man from Borneo, and his
whiskers are not ten days out. He's letting 'em grow so that he can
venture outside the castle without fear of recognition. I'd like to
get outside these walls for half a day.”
“I detest whiskers,” decided Lady Jane.
“So do I, especially Turk's. But they're vastly convenient, just the
same. In a couple of days Turk won't know himself when he looks in
the mirror. I believe I'll try to cultivate a bunch.”
“I'm sure they would improve you very much,” said Lady Jane,
aggressively. “What is your idea as to color?”
“Well, I rather fancy a nice amber. I can get one color as easily as
another. Have you a preference?”
“I think pink or blue would become you, Dickey. But don't let my
prejudices influence you. Of course, it can't make any difference,
because I won't recognize you, you know.”
“In other words, if I don't cut my whiskers you'll cut me?”
“Dead.”
“Lots of nice men have whiskers.”
“And so do the goats.”
“But a brigand always has a full set--in the opera, at least.”
“You are only a brigand's apprentice, and, besides, this isn't an
opera. It is a society tragedy.”
“Won't you have another egg?” he asked, looking politely at her
plate. Then he inquired if Miss Garrison would like to join him in a
climb among the rocks. She smiled wistfully and said she would be
charmed to do so if she were not too feeble with age when the time
came to start.
Consumed with a desire to acquaint herself with her surroundings,
she begged her companions to take her over the castle from turret to
cellar. Later in the day, with Turk carrying the lantern, she was
eagerly taking notes in the vast, spooky caves of Craneycrow.
Vaulted chambers here, narrow passages there, spider-ridden ceilings
that awoke to life as the stooping visitors rustled beneath them,
slimy walls and ringing floors, all went to make up the vast grave
in which she was to bury all hope of escape. Immense were the
iron-bound doors that led from one room to another; huge the bolts
and rusty the hinges; gruesome and icy the atmosphere; narrow the
steps that led to regions deeper in the bowels of the earth.
Dorothy's heart sank like lead as she surveyed the impregnable walls
and listened to the mighty groans of long-sleeping doors as the
shoulder of the sturdy Turk awoke them to torpid activity. There was
surprise and resentment in the creak of grim old hinges, in the
moans of rheumatic timbers, in the jangle of lazy chains and locks.
The stones on which they trod seemed to snap back in the echo of
their footfalls a harsh, strident laugh of derision. Every shadow
grinned mockingly at her; the very darkness ahead of the lantern's
way seemed to snort angrily at the approach of the intruders. The
whole of that rockbound dungeon roared defiance in answer to her
timid prayer, and snarled an ugly challenge to her courage.
Lady Saxondale and Dickey confronted two rather pale-faced girls
when the party of explorers again stood in the sunlit halls above.
Across their shrinking faces cobwebs were lashed, plastered with the
dank moisture of ages; in their eyes gleamed relief and from their
lips came long breaths of thankfulness. Turk, out of sight and
hearing, was roundly cursing the luck that had given him such a
disagreeable task as the one just ended. From the broad, warm
windows in the south drawing-room, once the great banquet hall, the
quartet of uncomfortable sight-seekers looked out upon the open
courtyard that stretched down to the fort-like wall, and for the
moment Dorothy envied Philip Quentin. He was briskly pacing the
stone-paved inclosure, smoking his pipe and basking in the sunshine
that had never penetrated to the horrors of Castle Craneycrow. Lord
Bob was serenely lounging on a broad oaken bench, his back to the
sun, reading from some musty-backed book.
“Oh, won't you let me go out in the sun for just a little while?”
she cried, imploringly. A mist came over Lady Saxondale's eyes and
Dickey turned away abruptly.
“As often as you like, Dorothy. The courtyard is yours as much as it
is ours. Jane, will you take her through our fort? Show her the
walls, the parapets, the bastions, and where the moat and drawbridge
were when the place was young. It is very interesting, Dorothy.”
With Dickey and Lady Jane, Dorothy passed into the courtyard and
into the open air for the first time in nearly a week. She felt like
a bird with clipped wings. The most casual inspection convinced her
that there was no possible chance of escape from the walled
quadrangle, in the center of which loomed the immense,
weather-painted castle. The wall was high and its strength was as
unbroken as in its earliest days. Lord Saxondale joined them and
explained to her all the points of interest about the castle as
viewed from the outside, but Quentin quietly abandoned his walk and
disappeared.
“It is as difficult to get out of Castle Craney-crow as it is to get
in, I dare say,” observed Dorothy, looking with awe upon the grim
old pile of rocks, they called a castle. Far above their heads stood
the tower, from which she had seen earth and sky as if in a
panorama, three days before.
“One might be able to get out if he could fly. It seems the only
way, provided, of course, there were opposition to his departure,”
said Lord Bob, smiling.
“Alas, I cannot fly,” she said, directly.
At the rear of the castle, where the stonework had been battered
down by time, man and the elements, she saw several servants at
work. “You have trustworthy servants, Lord Saxondale. I have tried
to bribe one of them.”
“You see, Miss Garrison, they love Lady Frances. That is the secret
of their loyalty. The chances are they'd sell me out to-morrow, but
they'd die before they'd cut loose from my wife. By Jove, I don't
understand how it is that everybody is won over by you American
women.”
During the trip through the cellars, Dorothy had learned that the
secret passages to the outside world began in the big chamber under
the tower. Lady Saxondale had unwittingly confessed, while they were
in the room, that two of the big rocks in the wall were false and
that they were in reality doors which opened into the passages. One
of the passages was over a mile long, and there were hundreds of
steps to descend before one reached a level where walking was not
laborious. The point of egress was through a hidden cave up the
valley, near the ruins of an old church. Where the other passage had
once led to she did not know, for it had been closed by the caving
in of a great pile of rocks.
With a determined spirit and a quaking courage, Dorothy vowed that
she would sooner or later find this passage-way and make a bold dash
for liberty. Her nerves were tingling with excitement, eagerness and
a horror of the undertaking, and she could scarcely control herself
until the opportunity might come for a surreptitious visit to the
underground regions. Her first thought was to locate, if possible,
the secret door leading into the passage. With that knowledge in her
possession she could begin the flight at once, or await a favorable
hour on some later day.
That very afternoon brought the opportunity for which she was
waiting. The other women retired for their naps, and the men went to
the billiard room. The lower halls were deserted, and she had little
difficulty in making her way unseen to the door that led to the
basement. Here she paused irresolutely, the recollection of the
dismal, grasping solitude that dwelt beyond the portal sending again
the chill to her bones.
She remembered that Turk had hung the lantern on a peg just inside
the door, and she had provided herself with matches. To turn the
key, open the door, pass through and close it, required no vast
amount of courage, for it would be but an instant until she could
have a light. Almost before she knew what she had done, she was in
the drafty, damp stairway, and the heavy door was between her and
her unsuspecting captors. With trembling, agitated fingers she
struck a match. It flickered and went out. Another and another met
the same fate, and she began to despair. The darkness seemed to
choke her, a sudden panic rushed up and overwhelmed her fainting
courage, and with a smothered cry of terror she turned to throw open
the door. But the door refused to open! A modern spring lock had set
itself against her return to the coveted security of the halls
above.
A deathly faintness came over her. She sobbed as she threw herself
against the stubborn door and pounded upon its panels with her
hands. Something dreadful seemed to be crawling up from behind, out
of the cavernous hole that was always night. The paroxysms of fear
and dread finally gave way to despair, and despair is ever the
parent of pluck. Impatiently she again undertook the task of
lighting the lantern, fearing to breathe lest she destroy the
wavering, treacherous flame that burnt inside her bleeding hands.
Her pretty knuckles were bruised and cut in the reckless pounding on
the door.
At last the candle inside the lantern's glass began to flicker
feebly, and then came the certainty that perseverance had been
rewarded. Light filled the narrow way, and she looked timidly down
the rickety stone steps, dreading to venture into the blackness
beyond. Ahead lay the possibility of escape, behind lay failure and
the certainty that no other opportunity would be afforded her. So
she bravely went down the steps, her knees weakly striking against
each other, the lantern jangling noisily against the stone wall.
How she managed to reach the chamber under the tower she could not
have told afterward; she did not know at the time. At last, however,
she stood, with blood chilled to the curdling point, in the center
of the room that knew the way to the outside world. Pounding on the
rocky walls with a piece of stone against which her foot had struck,
she at length found a block that gave forth the hollow sound she
longed to hear. Here, then, was the key to the passage, and it only
remained for her to discover the means by which the osbtruction
could be moved from the opening.
For half an hour, cold with fear and nervousness, she sought for the
traditional spring, but her efforts were in vain. There was
absolutely no solution, and it dawned upon her that she was doomed
to return to the upper world defeated. Indeed, unless she could make
those in the castle hear her cries, it was possible that she might
actually die of starvation in the pitiless cavern. The lantern
dropped from her palsied fingers, and she half sank against the
stubborn door in the wall. To be back once more in the rooms above,
with cheery human beings instead of with the spirits of she knew not
how many murdered men and women, was now her only desire, her only
petition.
The contact of her body with the slab in some way brought about the
result for which she had striven. The door moved slowly downward and
a dash of freezing air came from the widening aperture at the top,
blowing damp across her face. Staggering away from the ghostlike
hole that seemed to grin fiendishly until it spread itself into a
long, black gulf with eyes, a voice, and clammy hands, she grabbed
up the still lighted lantern and cried aloud in a frenzy of fear.
The door slowly sank out of sight and the way was open but her
courage was gone. What was beyond that black hole? Could she live in
the foul air that poured forth from that dismal mouth? Trembling
like a leaf, she lifted the lantern and peered into the aperture,
standing quite close to the edge.
Her eyes fastened themselves in mute horror upon the object that
first met their gaze; she could not breathe, her heart ceased
beating, and every vestige of life seemed to pass beyond recall. She
was looking upon the skeleton of a human being, crouched, hunched
against the wall of the narrow passage, a headless skeleton, for the
skull rolled out against her feet as the sliding door sank below the
level. Slowly she backed away from the door, not knowing what she
did, conscious only that her eyes could not be drawn from the
horrifying spectacle.
“Oh, God!” she moaned, in direst terror. Her ghastly companion
seemed to edge himself toward her, an illusion born in the changing
position of the light as she retreated.
“Dorothy,” came a voice behind her, and she screamed aloud in
terror, dropping the lantern and covering her face with her hands.
As she swayed limply, a pair of arms closed about her and a voice
she knew so well called her name again and again. She did not swoon,
but it was an interminably long time to him before she exhibited the
faintest sign of life other than the convulsive shudders that swept
through her body. At last her hands clasped his arm fiercely and her
body stiffened.
“Is it you, Phil? Oh, is it really you? Take me away from this
place! Anywhere, anywhere! I'll do anything you say, but don't let
that awful thing come near me!” she wailed. By the flickering light
he caught the terrified expression in her eyes.
“You are safe, dear. I'll carry you upstairs, if you like,” he said,
softly.
“I can walk, or run. Oh, why did I come here? But, Phil,” suddenly,
“we are locked in this place. We can't get out!”
“Oh, yes, we can,” he cried, quickly. “Come with me.” He picked up
the lantern, threw an arm about her and hurried toward the stairs
that led aloft. Afterwards he was not ashamed to admit that he
imagined he felt bony hands clutching at him from behind, and fear
lent speed to his legs. Up the stairs they crowded, and he clutched
at the huge handle on the door. In surprise, he threw his weight
against the timbers, and a moment later dropped back with an
exclamation of dismay. The door was locked!
“What does it mean!” he gasped. “I left it standing open when I came
down. The draft must have shut it. Don't be alarmed, Dorothy; I'll
kick the damned thing down. What an idiot I was to tell no one that
I was coming down here.” But his kicking did not budge the door, and
the noise did not bring relief. She held the lantern while he fought
with the barricade, and she was strangely calm and brave. The queer
turn of affairs was gradually making itself felt, and her brain was
clearing quickly. She was not afraid, now that he was there, but a
new sensation was rushing into her heart. It was the sensation of
shame and humiliation. That he, of all men, should find her in that
unhappy, inglorious plight, ending her bold dash for freedom with
the most womanly of failures, was far from comforting, to say the
least.
“Dorothy, I can't move it. I've kicked my toes off, and my knees are
bleeding, but there it stands like a rock. We've got to stay here
till some one chances to hear us,” he said, ruefully. “Are you
afraid now?”
“Why didn't you spring the lock when you came down? This is a pretty
pass, I must say,” she said, her voice still shaky, her logic
abnormal.
“I like that! Were you any better off before I came than you are
now? How were you going to get out, may I ask?” he demanded, coolly
seating himself on the top step. She stood leaning against the
wooden door, the diplomatic lantern between them.
“I was going out by another way,” she said, shortly, but a shudder
gave the lie to the declaration.
“Do you know where that hidden passage leads to?” he asked, looking
up into her face. She was brushing cobwebs from her dress.
“To a cave near the old church,” she replied, triumphantly.
“Blissful ignorance!” he laughed. “It doesn't lead anywhere as it
now exists. You see, there was a cave-in a few decades ago--”
“Is that the one that caved in?” she cried, in dismay.
“So Saxondale tells me.”
“And--and how did the--the--how did that awful thing get in there?”
she asked, a new awe coming over her.
“Well, that's hard to tell. Bob says the door has never been opened,
to his knowledge. Nobody knows the secret combination, or whatever
you call it. The chances are that the poor fellow whose bones we saw
got locked in there and couldn't get out. So he died. That's what
might have happened to you, you know.”
“Oh, you brute! How can you suggest such a thing?” she cried, and
she longed to sit close beside him, even though he was her most
detested enemy.
“Oh, I would have saved you from that fate, never fear.”
“But you could not have known that I was inside the passage.”
“Do you suppose I came down here on a pleasure trip?”
“You--you don't mean that you knew I was here?”
“Certainly; it is why I came to this blessed spot. It is my duty to
see that no harm comes to you, Dorothy.”
“I prefer to be called Miss Garrison,” coldly.
“If you had been merely Miss Garrison to me, you'd be off on a
bridal tour with Ravorelli at this moment, instead of enjoying a
rather unusual tete-a-tete with me. Seriously, Dorothy, you will be
wise if you submit to the inevitable until fate brings a change of
its own accord. You are brave and determined, I know, and I love you
more than ever for this daring attempt to get out of Craneycrow, but
you don't know what it might have brought you to. Good heavens, no
one knows what dangers lie in those awful passages. They have not
been used in a hundred years. Think of what you were risking. Don't,
for your own sake, try anything so uncertain again. I knew you were
down here, but no one else knows. How you opened that secret door, I
do not know, but we both know what happened to one other poor wretch
who solved the mystery.”
“I didn't solve it, really I didn't. I don't know how it happened.
It just opened, that's all, and then I--oh, it was terrible!” She
covered her eyes with her hands and he leaped to his feet.
“Don't think about it, Dorothy. It was enough to frighten you to
death. Gad, I should have gone mad had I been in your place.” He put
his arm about her shoulder, and for a moment she offered no
resistance. Then she remembered who and what he was and imperiously
lifted angry eyes to his.
“The skeleton may have been a gentleman in his day, Mr. Quentin.
Even now, as I think of him in horror, he could not be as detestable
as you. Open this door, sir!” she said, her voice quivering with
indignation.
“I wish I could--Dorothy, you don't believe that I have the power to
open this door and am blackguard enough to keep you here? My God,
what do you think I am?” he cried, drawing away from her.
“Open this door!” she commanded, resolutely. He looked long and
earnestly into her unflinching eyes, and his heart chilled as if ice
had clogged the blood.
“I cannot open it,” he said at last. With not another word he sat
down again at her feet, and, for what seemed like an age, neither
spoke. The lantern sputtered warningly, but they did not know the
light of its life was ebbing away. They breathed and thought, and
that was all. At length the chill air began to tell, and he plainly
heard the chatter of her teeth, the rustling of her dress as her
body shivered. He arose, stiff and cold, drew off his coat and threw
it about her shoulders. She resisted at first, but he was master.
Later his waistcoat was wrapped about her throat and the warm
lantern was placed at her feet, but she never gave him one look of
gratitude.
At intervals he pounded on the door until finally there came the
joyous, rasping sound of a key in the lock, and then excited
exclamations filled the ears of the two prisoners.