In his search for the medium of the leak to the enemy Bouchard had
studied every detail of the Galland premises and also of the ruins of
the castle, with the exception of one feature mentioned in the regular
staff records, prepared before the war, in the course of their minute
description of the architecture of buildings which were accessible to
the spies of the Grays. The tunnel to the dungeons could be reached only
through the private quarters of the Gallands.
When he came out onto the veranda from the staff council a glimpse of
Mrs. Galland walking in the garden told him that one of the guardians
who stood between him and the satisfaction of his desperate curiosity
was absent. He started for the tower and found the door open and the
sitting-room empty. In his impatience he had one foot across the
threshold before a prompting sense of respect for form made him pause.
After all, this was a private residence. There being no bell, he rapped,
and was glad that it was Minna and not Marta who appeared. He watched
her intently for the effect of his abrupt announcement as he exclaimed:
"I want to go into the tunnel under the castle!"
There was no mistaking her shock and alarm. Her lips remained parted in
a letter O as a sweep of breath escaped. Yet, in the very process of
recovering her scattered faculties, her feminine quickness noted a
triumphant gleam in his eye. She knew that her manner had given
conviction to his suspicions. She knew that she alone stood between him
and his finding Marta talking to Brown headquarters. As she was in a
state of astonishment, why, astonishment was her cue. She appeared
positively speechless from it except for the emission of another
horrified gasp. Time! time! She must hold him until Marta left the
telephone.
"What an idea! That musty, horrible, damp tunnel!" she exclaimed,
shuddering. "I never think of it without thinking of ghosts!"
"I am looking for ghosts," replied Bouchard with saturnine emphasis.
"Oh, don't say that!" cried Minna distractedly. "Sometimes at night I
hear their chains clanking and their groans and cries for water," she
continued, playing the superstitious and stupid maid servant. "That is,
I think I do. Miss Galland says I don't."
"Does she go into the tunnel?" asked Bouchard.
"Yes, she's been in to show me that there were no ghosts," replied
Minna. "But not the whole way--not into the dungeons. I believe she got
frightened herself, though she wouldn't admit it. I know there are
ghosts! She needn't tell me! Don't you believe there are?" she asked
solemnly, with dropped jaw.
"I'm going to find out!" he said, taking a step forward.
But Minna, just inside the doorway, did not move to allow him to enter.
"Oh, I'm so glad!" she exclaimed. "Then we'll know the truth. But no!"
and she turned wild with protest. "No, no! I know there are! It's
dangerous, sir! You'd never come out alive! Unseen hands would seize you
and draw you down and strangle you--those terrible spirits of the dark
ages!"
Her hands uplifted, fingers stretched apart in terror, lace white with
fear, Minna's distress was real--very real, indeed!--while she listened
impatiently for Marta's step in the adjoining room.
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Bouchard in disgust. "I didn't know such
superstition existed in this day."
"I didn't, sir, until the groans and the clanking of the chains kept me
awake," replied Minna.
"Have you a lantern?" asked Bouchard in exasperation.
"A lantern?" repeated Minna blankly. Time! time! She must gain time!
"Yes, you gawk, a lantern!"
"Certainly; you'll need one," said Minna--"a big one! Go and fetch a big
army one--and some soldiers to fight the ghosts. But what are soldiers
against ghosts? Oh, sir, I don't like to think of you going at all.
Please, sir, don't, for the sake of your life!"
There Bouchard frowned heavily and his hawk eyes flashed in command and
decision.
"Enough of this farce! A lamp, a candle will do. Come, get me one
immediately!"
Just as she was at her wits' end and it seemed as if there were nothing
left to do but to scream and fall in a faint in front of Bouchard, her
ear caught the welcome sound which told her that Marta had returned from
the tunnel.
"Yes, sir. Won't you come in, sir? Of course, sir," she said, standing
aside. "Won't you be seated, sir?"
"Good day, Colonel Bouchard!" called Marta, appearing in the doorway.
"He wants to go into the dungeons to see the ghosts!" Minna exclaimed in
a return of horror before Bouchard had time to say a word, while she
screwed up the side of her face away from him suggestively to Marta.
"Those terrible ghosts! I'm afraid for him. Like a man, he may go right
into the dungeons, even if you didn't dare to, Miss Galland."
"I wish he would!" Marta joined in eagerly. "That might cure you of your
silly imaginings, Minna. She actually thinks, Colonel Bouchard, that she
hears them groan and moan and even shriek. Didn't you say they shrieked
as well as groaned and moaned once about 3 A.M.?" she asked jocularly.
"A ghost must be hard put to it when he shrieks," observed Bouchard,
glaring from one to the other.
"It's all very well for you to make fun of me because you have the
advantage of an education," said Minna to Marta, "but you
yourself--you--"
"Yes, I did hear what sounded like moaning voices," admitted Marta
rather sheepishly. "But of course it was imagination. Now we have a man
with nerve enough to go into the dungeons, we'll lay this ridiculous
psychological bugaboo at once; that is, if you have the nerve!" She
arched her brows in challenging scrutiny of Bouchard, while her eyes
twinkled at the prospect of adventure. "I thought I had, myself, but
before I got to the dungeons the clammy air wilted it and I was rubbing
my eyes to keep from seeing all kinds of apparitions."
She puzzled Bouchard, she was so facile, so ready, so many-sided. But
the more she puzzled him the stronger became his conviction of her
guilt. He guessed that all this talk was only a prelude to some trick to
keep him out of the tunnel. Poor at speech at best, slightly fussed by
her candid good humor and teasing, he hesitated as to his next remark.
He was going to be short with her in stating that he would go into the
tunnel immediately, when she took the words out of his mouth.
"This way, please. I'm all impatience. I only wish that you had
suggested it before."
As they passed out of the room Minna leaned against the wall, exhausted
and wonder-struck.
"Miss Galland is beyond me!" she thought. "Does she think those hawk
eyes will miss that little button of the panel door?"
"We'll need a lantern," said Marta as she took up the one she had been
using from a corner of the tool room; while Bouchard, slowly turning his
head like some automaton, was examining every detail of floor and wall,
spades, hoes, and weeders, for a hidden significance. The lantern was
still hot, and Marta's finger smarted with a burn, but she did not
twitch. She was so keyed up that she felt capable of walking over
red-hot coals, while she joked about ghosts. "There!" she exclaimed,
after the lantern was lighted. "This is going to be great sport. Ghost
hunting--think of that! We might have made a ghost party Too bad we
didn't think of it in time. Yes, it's a pity to be so exclusive about
it. Even now we might send for General Westerling and some of the other
staff-officers."
She paused and looked at Bouchard questioningly, perhaps challengingly;
at least, he thought challengingly. He had half a mind to concur. Could
anything be better than to have Westerling present if suspicions proved
correct? But no. She wanted Westerling and that was the best reason why
he should not be present. Yet there was no sign of chicane in the
brimming fun of her eyes that went with the suggestion. Bouchard's
search for the proper words of dissent left him rather confused and at a
disadvantage. With sympathetic quickness she seemed to guess his
thoughts, and in a way that he found all the more exasperating.
"No, no! We're too impatient! We can't wait, can we?" she exclaimed.
"Let's go. Let's get the ghosts single-handed, you and I. If we win
we'll demand a specially large bronze cross to be struck for us."
"Yes," he agreed with an affectation of humor that made him feel
ludicrous. He always felt ludicrous when he tried to be humorous.
"Come on!" said Marta, going to the stairway.