IN THE SECRET CRYPT.
Having discovered so much, our hero could not be content to leave the
place without knowing something more. He did not expect that he could
explore to any great extent without the aid of artificial light; but he
could see the manner of place it was immediately below him, and he might
be able to determine something of its depth and general character.
Of course there was a way or means of closing and opening the trap from
below; but he did not care then to stop for the investigation of that
part of the problem.
So he went out and took a survey around to make sure that no one else
was in sight, then returned and made ready for the descent into the
unknown regions.
He had no weapon save his battered leopard wood staff; but that had
served him once, and it might serve him again should the need present
itself.
He took one more look around, then put his foot upon the ladder and
began the descent. The distance was not far, perhaps twelve to fourteen
feet, at the end of which he alighted upon a bottom of rock and quite
rough.
As nearly as could be judged with the aid of the light he had, he
concluded the crypt to be mostly the work of nature. Evidently the old
monks or whoever had built the chapel, had found the cavern beneath and
had thus utilized it.
It was irregular in form, its greatest width at the point where he now
stood being nine full paces, not far from twenty-seven feet.
As soon as he had become more used to the gloom he moved on ahead, very
soon making a new discovery, and one of importance.
At the point where he had landed from the ladder the cavern had been
entirely bare, the only things to attract his attention, besides the
jagged walls, being the somewhat complicated and bulky machinery by
which the altar was moved to and fro; but he had not advanced many steps
into the place before he came in contact with things that opened his
eyes and sharpened his understanding.
Piled against the walls on either hand were barrels and casks and boxes,
some of which appeared to have been there a long time, while others were
evidently of more recent deposit. A little further on the cave narrowed,
and was buried in darkness, but he believed there was a widening again
further on. In this narrower part were a few boxes, and a lot of ship’s
rigging--ropes, blocks, and old sails.
Ah! Another thing struck the explorer; and it struck him forcibly. It
was a strong draught of air fresh from the sea! He was too well used to
the atmosphere of the sea to mistake it when it came full in his face,
and filled his nostrils and his lungs.
And now he could understand. In the slope of the crag towards the shore
of the bay were several caves, two of which were of considerable size.
One of these latter--he thought he knew which one it was--had a secret
opening into a passage leading to the place where he now stood; and the
smugglers had discovered it and were making use of it.
Many things which had heretofore puzzled him were clear to him now. His
father, he was confident, had known nothing of this cavern.
During his father’s lifetime he had known how all the goods landed at
the Cove were disposed of; but it had not been so since his death.
Of late--within the three years last past--there had to his certain
knowledge been many things brought in that had never been taken further
inland, to be disposed of among the people there residing.
One occasion, in particular, he called to mind. It happened a year
previously. He had gone on board the brig one evening, and had seen a
number of boxes brought up from the hold and deposited on deck.
On the following morning he had been called on board again, when he
found the boxes gone; yet he knew that no team had left the landing, and
that no boat had gone up the river.
But it was all clear now. The goods had been landed at night at the foot
of the crag, and taken up to the cave. When the secret had been first
discovered by the smugglers he could not imagine; nor could he tell by
whom, though he strongly suspected that Ralph Tryon had been the first
to make use of it as a depository of contraband, and, perhaps, for
pirated goods.
Having discovered so much, and having further determined that the space
ahead was wrapped in total darkness, Percy concluded to leave further
explorations to another and more favorable opportunity.
Furthermore, he determined that he would acquaint the earl with the
discovery he had made and leave future proceedings to his direction. It
would be proper so to do, and it would be right.
Thus thinking he turned about and started to retrace his steps. He had
gone but a short distance on his return when his eye caught an object he
had not before seen. The fact was, his eyes had become used to the dim
light, and he saw things more distinctly.
Standing on the stone bottom, just under the head of one of the casks--a
cask that had been set up on two small boxes--he espied a drinking cup.
He stooped and picked it up and made sure it was of silver and heavy at
that. He further observed that in the head of the cask, close to the
lower chine, was a wooden faucet.
The fancy possessed him to see what the cask contained; so, stooping
down, he gave the tap of the faucet a turn, and speedily a liquid
trickled out. He gave another turn and held the cup under it.
The first drawn he used to rinse the drinking-vessel with, and with it
filled a second time he arose and stepped to where he had more light.
The liquid, as the fumes had told him, was wine, and there could be no
mistaking its character or quality. It was old port, very strong, yet
smooth as oil. It must have been old when first deposited in its present
place of rest, and now the taster decided it to be the finest wine of
the kind he had ever put to his lips.
Being well assured that no harmful ingredient could have found its way
into the cask, he drank the potion and felt the better for it, but he
wanted no more. Much wine of that quality would give to his head a
buzzing not at all desirable.
Up the ladder, once more on the pavement of the chapel, our hero looked
around. Everything was as he had left it. And now to move the altar back
to its original place. With his hands on the upper edge, as before, he
put forth his strength, this time at once and quickly. He heard the
sharp click, as before, and immediately the ponderous mass swung back
against the wall, with not a sign left to tell that a strange hand had
been tampering with the mystery of the old chapel.
One mystery had been solved; but, in some respects, a greater yet
remained in the dark. He had discovered how the seeming monk had made
his exit from the chapel, but he had not discovered the meaning of the
face that monk had worn. He knew not how many times he had recalled the
scene, how many moments he had spent in thinking of it; he only knew
that the more he reflected the more sure he became that his eyes had not
played him false.
Beneath that gray cowl he had as surely seen a face like his father’s as
he was sure that he had seen the figure at all. But he had seen it in
profile. Perhaps could he see that same face in full front view it might
appear different to him.
Yet, it was marvelous; and he could not think of it without wonder. He
could only hope that the time might come when he could look upon the
gray friar under other circumstances.
If he was one of the smugglers, or was engaged in their business on
shore, he might yet be trapped. Who should say?
Upon leaving the chapel our adventurer took his way at once towards the
castle, being resolved that the earl should be made acquainted with his
discovery in the outset. He had no fear of Lord Oakleigh. It would not
be over and above pleasant to meet him; yet he would not go out of his
way, or, at least, he would not discommode himself to avoid him. How his
lordship would account for his lame hand he could not guess; but he
doubted very much the telling of the truth.
He thought he might at some time relate the incident to Cordelia; but
under no circumstances would he tell the story to the earl, unless he
should be asked; and he did not think that likely, as he had no idea
that the grandson would let out the secret of his ruffianism.
Arrived at the castle, the first person whom he met was the very one
whom he was most eager to see--the old steward, Michael Dillon.
“Michael, I have had nothing to eat since early morning, and I have had
a long hard walk.”
“Bless my soul! And bless you, too, Master Percy! You couldn’t have come
at a more fortunate time. When the old lord is alone with no company, he
likes his dinner early; and we’re just after carrying it in. So come
along to my room and eat with me--unless you prefer to try the upper
table.”
“What! with the earl?”
“To be sure.”
“Mercy, no! What should put such an idea into your head?”
“Why, it wouldn’t be the first time, not by a number; and, besides, I
have a fancy that the old lord rather likes it.”
“But never when Lord Oakleigh is at the castle.”
“Oho, he isn’t here! Thank fortune he’s gone.”
“Gone! Are you sure?”
“Aye, that I am--bag and baggage--he and his rascally valet with him.”
“When did he go and how?”
“He came home at noon with his arm in a sling. He said a horse had
kicked him and hurt him sorely, and he had his things packed up and a
trap to take him over to Burton, where I believe he said he was going to
spend the night with a friend. He is off for Oxford to-morrow.”
“Was the earl very sorry to have him go?”
“I should say not. He makes the good old man very unhappy when he is
here; and yet I sometimes think he hates to see him going, being so sure
that he’s going to new mischief. Ah, he’s a bad lot! I’m sure I don’t
know who he takes after. His father was one of the finest gentlemen I
ever knew, and handsome as well; and his mother was a born angel. There
couldn’t be a sweeter, purer, or a nobler woman than she was, though she
was a bit proud. When I tell you that she was just as beautiful as is
Lady Cordelia, and just as good, you’ll understand what I mean. Who in
the world there ever was in the old earl’s family, on either side, like
him, I’m sure I don’t know. It’s one o’ them marvels, Master Percy, that
you’ve got to take as they come, and make the best of ’em.”
They went in to dinner; and our hero made a hearty meal and enjoyed it.
The conversation of the steward was entertaining and interesting.
He had been in the earl’s employ, boy and man, more than half a century,
having been born on the estate little more than three score years
before.
“By the way,” the old man said towards the close of the meal, “it’s
curious that we’ve never seen anything of the new captain of the
smugglers at the castle. Your father, my boy, used to come up quite
often; and a few of us were glad enough to purchase a few creature
comforts that he had to dispose of. Of course, the earl never traded
with him; but, for all that, more than one bottle of wine from his
cargo, and more than one chest of tea, found their way into his
lordship’s larder and upon his table. From what I hear, I should judge
the new captain--Tryon--to be rather a poor sort of a stick.”
“Then you never saw him?”
“Not that I know of.”
“He is a bad man, Michael--a man that I keep clear of.”
“Yes, I’ve heard so. They don’t speak well of him anywhere. Even the old
landlord of the Allerdale Arms don’t like him; and when Martin Vanyard
turns against a smuggler you may be sure there’s a reason for it.”
“I was not aware, before,” said Percy, “that Captain Tryon had never
shown himself at the castle. However, he doesn’t appear to spend much of
his time in this section any way. As soon as his vessel gets in he is
sure to be off. Where he goes I do not know; and, to tell the truth, I
care less. There is something about the man that puzzles me, and for
that I would like to gain a more intimate acquaintance. I would like to
follow him on one of his journeys and see what he does with
himself--where he goes, and in what guise he appears when there.”
“Eh! D’ye fancy he’s playin’ a kind of hide and seek?--that he’s got
another character?”
“Yes. I am sure of it, and I intend to unmask him one of these days. In
fact, the time may not be far distant.”
“Well, if he’s as big a rascal as I’ve heard it whispered, I hope he may
be nabbed very soon.”
“Ah!” exclaimed the youth, with a slight start, and a curious look into
the old man’s face, “what sort of whispers have you heard, Michael?”
The steward hesitated. After gazing for a time into his glass, and
taking a swallow of wine, he said:
“Really, Percy, I don’t know as I ought to speak; but then it’s no
secret, and it’s whispered pretty loudly, too. They say--I’ve heard old
Martin at the inn say--that there was more carried on by the new captain
of the Staghound than smuggling. I s’pose you know what that means?”
“Yes. I know. Has it come to the earl’s ears?”
“I’m not sure; but I think it has. Mebbe, Percy, you know about it.”
“Michael, whatever I may know with regard to a change in the character
of the brig has come to my knowledge within eight-and-forty hours. I
shall myself speak with the earl on this subject; so you and I will
discuss it no more.”
“But you’ll tell me some time, my boy?”
“Yes; you shall know all about it, just as soon as there is something
tangible discovered.”
Shortly after this the meal came to an end, and the young man made his
way to one of the smaller drawing-rooms, where Cordelia was in the habit
of sitting, and where he had given her his instruction while acting in
the capacity of private tutor.
He found the lady there, and with her was the old earl. She arose
instantly on his entrance, and approached him with her hand
outstretched.
She smiled, as she always smiled on meeting him; but to him there was a
new flush on her lovely face; a new warmth in her greeting, and a new
light in her radiant eyes.
“Percy, I am glad you have come. You can tell dear grandpa all about
what we saw in the old chapel last night.”
“My lord,” said the visitor, turning to the earl, after he had responded
to Cordelia’s greeting, “I have come on purpose to speak with you. I
think I have something to tell that will interest you.”
Now Lord Allerdale had made up his mind--had firmly resolved--that the
next time he should meet with young Maitland he would treat him
respectfully, and not unkindly; but he would make him feel that he must
know his place and keep it.
He would never unbend to him again--never again give his hand as a
friend. It would not answer.
And this was the next meeting. The old man had arisen when his
grandchild spoke, and as he turned and rested his gaze upon the handsome
face, and ran his eyes over the fine, manly form, and met the warm,
generous smile, and heard the rich, frank, truthful voice, his poor
resolutions vanished into forgetfulness, and the old love and
admiration, together with the old trust and confidence, came back to
him.
He put forth his hand without knowing it--put it forth as it had been
his wont to do, and smiled benignantly, almost paternally, as he said in
a frank, genial tone and manner so natural to him:
“Percy, I am glad to see you. Sit right down here, and let’s have your
wonderful story. If you can hold your own with Cordelia I shall give you
full credit.”
“I will not presume, my lord,” said the young man, “to tell over again
anything that your granddaughter may have told you; for I know she must
have done full justice to her subject. I suppose,” turning to the lady,
“you have told all about what we saw in the old chapel?”
“Yes. I’ve told everything I could think of; but you might remember
things that I have forgotten.”
“No fear of that, dear lady. But listen: I have been to the chapel
to-day.”
“What! And never told me?”
“Hush, darling!” interposed the old nobleman, as the girl broke in. “Let
the young man speak. I can see by his look that he has something of
importance to tell us.”
“I have indeed, my lord.” And thereupon, clearly and concisely, and with
real dramatic elegance and force, he went on and told the story of his
wonderful discovery of a few hours before.
He told how he had reached the chapel, and how he had pondered and
studied, and how he had finally discovered the secret of moving the
ponderous block of stone forming the altar.
And then he told of the crypt beneath, of what he had found in it, and
how he had determined that the secret vault was connected with one or
more of the caves on the long slope of the Witch’s Crag, towards the
bay.
Cordelia had contained herself with difficulty during the recital, and
at its conclusion she was eager to burst forth in her impulsive way.
She was greatly disappointed that he should have gone without her; but a
look which he bent upon her after he had closed, together with several
glances which he had given her while he had been speaking, told her why
he had not come to her. She understood and was content. Be sure,
however, she was determined that the next visit would not be made
without her.
The earl had listened patiently, but eagerly, to the end. Not a word
escaped him, nor an intonation.
“My dear boy,” he exclaimed, warmly and gratefully, “you do not know
what a favor you have done me. The whole thing is now plain to me and my
duty clear. Of course, I may depend upon your assistance.”
“You may, my lord, depend upon me for everything within my power to do.”
“What put it into your head to think of that particular way of moving
the altar?”
The young man explained by pointing to a square-topped table that stood
near. He told how he had found the end where the huge stone was clear of
the pavement, while at the other end it rested on it; and how that had
led him to make the trials which had proved successful.
“And to think that all these years I have searched in vain! Well, the
credit is yours, my boy; and I am glad you have found it. If I am not
mistaken, we have an important work before us.” At this point the earl
bent his head upon his hand, and remained for a considerable time buried
in a profound meditation.
“Grandpa!” called his fair ward, becoming restless and impatient in the
dead silence, “what are you thinking about?”
He started quickly and raised his head. Twice he passed his hand to and
fro across his eyes, and finally, with a look of deep anxiety on his
frank, honest face, he spoke.
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