CHAPTER III

THE DARK PASSAGE

The panel was turning round! slowly, but most surely turning round, much in the way that a turnstile moves, as if on a pivot or pin running from top to bottom of the wood.

Charles could hardly believe his eyes, which, indeed, after that stinger from the bowstring, were for a minute or two not so trustworthy as usual. He very soon, however, saw clearly enough that the panel really was open, and now stood half-way inside the room, half-way outside in the shadowy space beyond.

So amazed was he that for a short time he could not stir hand or foot, and only stood staring at the panel. But if he had never seen such a thing before, it was no great marvel, for not many people had done so. He had not only heard of, but seen, panels that lifted above into the walls, window-sash fashion, and panels that slid back sideways into grooves, and in the hope that such panels might be found in that room, he had spent hours in pushing and shoving and poking about the edges and frameworks of the carvings till his little fingers ached again. Then a hundred times he had cried, “Open, Sesame!” as Ali Baba did, but nothing had come of it. Yet now, here, in the most unexpected manner it had happened, and accordingly, like people in general, big or little, when on those rare occasions that which their heart most longs for comes to pass, he stood as if he was dazed and unable to believe it true. He soon, however, found his wits again, and slipping down from the chair, he crossed the floor and peeped into the dark space, though gingerly enough, lest the panel should think proper to snap to, and treat his nose as badly as he had treated poor Minerva’s.

Then he carefully examined the condition of that good lady, and found her to be not at all herself as he had hitherto had the pleasure of her acquaintance. To be sure she sat bolt upright as ever, as far as her shoulders, but her head hung down now all dingle-dangle. Was her neck broken? No; it was not as bad as that, it was dislocated, and hung wobbling by a sort of metal hinge to which there seemed some wires and a steel spring attached.

Well, certainly, thought Charles, as he looked, those Flemish craftsmen must have been very clever fellows. He did not however stop to think much about anything, for the belfry over his head began to sound with a terrific clangor as he stood in the opening. Five o’clock, and at five his supper was always brought him, and after that he had to go to bed. There was not a moment to lose, and, after a very brief consideration he stepped back into the room, and took off his doublet, putting it in a corner of the window-seat. Being such sultry weather all he wore under the doublet was the little shirt of fine cambric; then—but hark! voices! Why, bless your heart, yes, the merle’s voice, and the harvesters all rejoicing in the soft cool air which the waning day had brought. Quite a little breeze, in fact, as it came rustling and ruffling up from below to where Charles stood in the queer dark nook outside the panel; but his eyes were growing accustomed to the darkness now, and he could see that he was standing on the top of a staircase which wound down and down out of sight. There was one thing he had forgotten, in all his excitement, and a thing of the utmost importance too. His sword. He would not encumber himself with his armor or other weapons, but as a soldier and a gentleman his short sword he must have; and he went back again and, picking it up from the floor, he stuck it into his belt, for he needed both hands free. Then slipping out once more upon the shelf of a landing, for it was no more, he drew the panel to. Had he been able to see then on its other side, he would have seen Minerva’s helmeted head pop up and settle itself all right and tight on her shoulders, as if nothing had happened, but by that time he was at the bottom of the staircase. It did not reach beyond a turn or two, and ended in a long always-downward-winding passage barely three feet wide and hardly higher.

Through this scudded Charles as well as he could, like a rabbit in a burrow, always down and down, and twisting and turning, guided by the glimmering of daylight which entered by little holes pierced at few-and-far-between distances in the thick stone wall on his left hand. Still on and on he went the downward way, till at last the air began to turn from cool to clammy, damp, and cold, and he stood still to listen, for there came a sound through the deadly silence. It was the trickling of water, and he guessed he must be close upon the moat.

The next moment he found his right hand was touching cold moss-covered stone instead of dry wood as hitherto. His heart fluttered like the wings of a bird, but he stepped on, feeling every inch of the way. In this manner he descended several stone steps that were slippery with ooze and felt jagged and crumbling under his feet. At the bottom of the steps he found himself standing on smooth and level ground, and, pausing to take breath, he listened again. The water was over his head, he could hear it gurgling slowly and solemnly on, and all round him was pitchy darkness, but far on straight ahead he saw, or fancied he saw, a gleam of reddish light.

Plucking heart of grace, he moved on again, and soon the fancy became a certainty. It was the light of the sun now nearing the end of his course, and it was piercing the bars of a grating. From fluttering, Charles’s heart now stood still, for a great dismay seized him. What if that grating closed in the passage? Why, then, since he had noticed that there was no handle or mark of any kind at the back of the panel in the Cedar Room, he would not be able to open it, even if he dared to go back, and so he would be caught like a rat in a trap! It wanted some courage to go on and make certain, and only after a second or two he found it, and, groping his way on, reached the grating, to find that it was as he had thought so possible. The grating was just high and wide enough to allow of a person getting out of it. It stood on the top of a steep narrow flight of stone steps, and as Charles mounted these, the afternoon sunlight broke upon it from the outside, and he saw that it was chained and padlocked; but as he took hold of the padlock, it fell to pieces in his hand, all eaten through and through with rust. Then he saw that the links of the chain were equally useless, and as he gave the grating a push they all rattled and fell helplessly to the ground.

For a moment more the gate stuck hard, but with another tremendous push of Charles’s shoulder, it yielded with a screech, and swung back as far as a heap of mud and rotten leaves allowed it to go, and this was far enough to allow of Charles’s slender little body squeezing through.

When he got outside, he found himself—where? Ah! that was the puzzle of it. That he was beyond the moat of course he knew, but was he beyond the garden walls? If he was not—but he was, a good way beyond, right out in the fields; for though he was cooped up in a round sort of a bricked-in place like a well, and could see nothing but a close tangle of gorse and bramble overhead, he could hear the voices of the country folk, the neighing of horses, and the creaking of wagon-wheels hard by. And all at once as he listened the voices broke out in a loud cheery chorus. “Harvest Home,” sang the men, women, and children, while dogs barked, and the birds sang louder than ever:—

“Harvest Home!” Merrily sing we all, “Harvest Home!”

And Charles knew that he was free.