hey were actually within a yard or so of
him before he could even dimly discern their shapes. There were three
of them--Mr. Fentolin in his chair, Doctor Sarson, and Meekins. They
paused for a moment while the latter produced a key. Hamel distinctly
heard a slow, soft whisper from Doctor Sarson.

"Shall I go round to the front and see that he is in bed?"

"No need," Mr. Fentolin replied calmly. "It is nearly four o'clock.
Better not to risk the sound of your footsteps upon the pebbles. Now!"

The door swung noiselessly open. The darkness was so complete that even
though Hamel could have touched them with an outstretched hand, their
shapes were invisible. Hamel, who had formed no definite plans, had no
time to hesitate. As the last one disappeared through the door, he,
too, slipped in. He turned abruptly to the left and, holding his breath,
stood against the wall. The door closed behind them. The gleam of the
electric light flashed across the stone floor and rested for a moment
upon a trap-door, which Meekins had already stooped to lift. It fell
back noiselessly upon rubber studs, and Meekins immediately slipped
through it a ladder, on either side of which was a grooved stretch of
board, evidently fashioned to allow Mr. Fentolin's carriage to pass
down. Hamel held his breath. The moment for him was critical. If the
light flashed once in his direction, he must be discovered. Both Meekins
and Doctor Sarson, however, were intent upon the task of steering Mr.
Fentolin's little carriage down below. They placed the wheels in the two
grooves, and Meekins secured the carriage with a rope which he let
run through his fingers. As soon as the little vehicle had apparently
reached the bottom, he turned, thrust the electric torch in his pocket,
and stepped lightly down the ladder. Doctor Sarson followed his example.
They disappeared in perfect silence and left the door open. Presently a
gleam of light came travelling up, from which Hamel knew that they had
lit a lamp below. Very softly he crept across the floor, threw himself
upon his stomach and peered down. Below him was a room, or rather a
cellar, parts of which seemed to have been cut out of the solid rock.
Immediately underneath was a plain iron bedstead, on which was lying
stretched the figure of a man. In those first few moments Hamel failed
altogether to recognise Mr. Dunster. He was thin and white, and he
seemed to have shrunken; his face, with its coarse growth of beard,