ng into the hole, which seemed to be a
stairway, leading from the tower into the bowels of the rock. With a
touch of fingers upon the efflorescent walls he moved cautiously down,
step by step, sure now that this was the ancient corridor by which the
men-at-arms passed from the guardhouse to the other rampart. Sixty-two
steps down he counted, and then he reached a level, where he paused a
moment to look at the vague blotch of gray which was the starlight. Even
with eyes that had now grown accustomed to the darkness he could see
nothing, and so deeming himself safe from observation, he struck a
match, which struggled a moment against the foul air and then went out.
But in the brief moment of partial illumination, Renwick made out a
corridor extending straight before him, slightly downward. He followed
it cautiously his hands stretched out, his toes feeling for pitfalls,
and at last came to a rough wall.

Was this the end--a wall which shut off communication with the ruins?
Emptiness to the right. He turned and followed the wall blindly, down
its tortuous way, aware of a difficulty in breathing, and a throbbing at
his temples down which the moisture was pouring profusely. In a while
which seemed hours, the rough wall stopped, and his fingers encountered
a wooden upright--a doorway--open. And testing the stone floor carefully
he passed through it, the echoes of footfalls advising him that he was
in a larger space. He peered in all directions, seeking a sign of light
within, for it seemed that the air had now grown fresher, but he saw
nothing, and so striking a third match which burned more brightly, he
held it over his head for a moment and looked about him.

It was a kind of crypt in a good state of preservation, octagonal in
shape, about twelve feet high, and the ceiling was supported by arches
which sprang from dwarf columns of stone at the angles. From the center
of the ceiling by a heavy chain hung an ancient iron lamp which still
contained the remnants of a candle. There was a heavy wooden table at
one side, and two heavy chairs, but Renwick's gaze passed these quickly
to a partition of rough boards in one of the walls opposite, and then
his match burnt his fingers and expired.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE DEATH GRIP

He stood in the middle of the stone floor, matchbox in hand, trying to
decide what he must do next. As nearly as he could judge by his
observations during the afternoon, and the direction of the steps