The hum of machinery continued. For what seemed an eternity Paul Temple and Steve Trent were imprisoned in the slowly descending lift. Neither spoke. Both could only wonder what would be the climax of this strange turn of events. There was scarcely room to move.
There was nothing to be seen. The panel was the only opening, and this was now closed. There was not even a grill of any kind through which they could peer as they descended.
Down and down it went. Seconds lengthened into minutes. Only the continued vibration told them they were still moving.
‘We’re stopping, Steve…’ said Temple. Suddenly, almost simultaneously, the lift gave a sharp jerk and the vibration ceased.
‘Open the panel, Steve!’
Steve was in a better position to slide it back than Temple.
‘I wonder where we are!’ she speculated, a little nervously, as she stretched out her arm to open it.
‘Probably the bargain basement!’ replied Paul Temple, with grim flippancy. ‘Here, I’ll try that!’ he exclaimed, as he saw that Steve’s efforts to open the panel were proving fruitless. With a twist of his arm, he had the panel open.
Both looked out through the opening. Dimly they could make out that they were in some kind of vault or passage. They could see two sides, six or eight feet apart. In the rear was nothing but hollow darkness.
Everything was deathly still. The air seemed clammy, even though it was cold. They appeared to be deep under the earth in some kind of queer subterranean corridor.
Paul Temple had now pulled out his electric torch, thanking his lucky stars for having taken it with him, and suddenly pressed the switch.
‘Looks like a passage of some sort!’ he said.
‘Yes,’ agreed Steve in a whisper. They made out the stone slabs that lined the sides and the floor. They were slimy and covered with some growth that looked like moss. Stalactites, up to nearly a foot long, hung down from the roof. The passage itself seemed just high enough for a tall man to walk upright. The surface of the walls and ground were wet. A few yards from the lift was a cavity in which were two strong wooden cases with heavy padlocks fastening them, and bound with iron.
‘Can you get out all right?’ Paul Temple asked.
‘I think so,’ Steve replied as she started to clamber through the opening. ‘They don’t give you much room, do they?’
Taking care not to rip her dinner dress, she finally managed to pull herself through. The bulkier Temple speedily followed her. Together they stood in front of the lift peering into the distance which the light from the little electric torch could not reach.
Temple put his arm round Steve’s waist to reassure her, and slowly and carefully, watching out for any openings in the ground beneath them, they commenced to move forward. He handed Steve the torch. His right hand he put into his pocket. There, he had his precious automatic, and his fingers closed round it with an immense feeling of satisfaction. He pulled it out and showed it to Steve so that she, too, could share in the feeling of security it gave. With his thumb, he pressed down the safety catch, and as they walked along, held it in front of him, ready for any emergency.
‘I wonder where this place leads to?’ he remarked.
‘I’ve got a pretty awful sense of direction,’ replied Steve, ‘but we seem to be going towards the village, as far as I can make out.’
‘We’ll walk to the end!’ he said, after they had gone on a few yards.
The light from the torch began to flicker. The battery was fading. Temple cursed himself mentally for not making sure that it would last. He determined also, if he ever came out of this extraordinary situation alive, to buy a lamp with a hand-operated dynamo.
‘Can you see all right?’ he asked Steve after a while.
‘Not too badly,’ she replied.
‘This passage is pretty old,’ remarked Temple. ‘It must have been here for years.’
Silently they trudged on. They were now getting more accustomed to the darkness and to the slippery surface of the stone flags over which they were walking. Now they were beginning to step out in a sharp walk. This was necessary, if only to keep warm in the damp, cold air of the passage.
‘Seems fairly long, doesn’t it?’ said Temple after a few minutes.
Suddenly Steve came to a stop. She pulled herself free from him and pointed into the distance.
‘Paul!’ she burst out. ‘Paul, there’s a light!’
The novelist’s eyesight was not quite so keen as Steve’s, but he strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of the light in the distance.
‘Where?’ he asked. ‘Oh, yes!’ he said suddenly.
‘It’s an oil lamp!’ said Steve. ‘Someone must have been here quite recently.’
‘Someone’s been here quite recently, all right!’ Temple remarked grimly. ‘Don’t worry about that. I wonder where the devil this passage leads to?’ he added thoughtfully.
Steve began to smile. A fantastic thought had occurred to her. ‘Most probably to “The Little General”,’ she laughed. ‘Everything seems to lead towards—’
‘By Timothy, Steve!’ interrupted Paul Temple, a tremendous elation in his voice. ‘By Timothy, you’re right!’
‘Why, Paul, you don’t—’
Paul Temple did not let Steve finish her sentence. He explained the conclusion to which he had jumped from her chance remark.
‘“The Little General” lies about a hundred yards from Ashdown House,’ he said. ‘We must have come fifty yards already—’
‘Then you really think this passage leads towards the inn?’ Steve interrupted, with obvious excitement in her voice.
‘We’ll soon find out,’ he replied grimly. ‘We’ll soon find out, Steve.’
Slowly they plodded on. Paul Temple had switched his torch off, but the faint beams from the oil lamp seemed to be reflected backwards and forwards from the shiny walls. There was just enough light for them to make their way. Moreover, they did not care to advertise their approach by using the torch.
Occasionally, one or other of them kicked hard at a stone that projected from the other flags. Otherwise their progress remained uninterrupted. There were no hidden pitfalls, no obstructions against which they might stumble. Only here and there an old barrel, its iron hoops thick with rust.
At last they came to a halt.
‘There’s
