CHAPTER XV
UNDERGROUND
The change of camp had relieved the boys of one irksome tie. There wasno longer any need for a constant guard. The barbed wire, andWarrender's patrolling of the camp, were merely ruses for the deceptionof the enemy. Next morning, therefore, for the first time since theirarrival, all three went off together in the motor-boat, to make a tripdown the river and along the coast westward. They threw a keen glanceat Rush's hut as they turned the point. Its door was closed; nobody wasabout; and the only human being they saw in the course of theirexpedition was one solitary figure moving slowly along the top of thecliff--possibly a coastguard.
They lunched on the boat, and did not return until afternoon. Leavingthe others to prepare tea, Warrender went on to the village, bought asmall luminous compass, and an electric torch from Blevins'smiscellaneous stock, and a few buns at the baker's. When he regainedthe camp, his companions reported that there was no sign of its stillbeing kept under observation--by this time the enemy was probablypersuaded that their only wish was to be left alone. While they werehaving tea, Rush rowed slowly past, going down stream. He did not turnhis head towards them, but Pratt declared that he had given them a slyglance out of the tail of his eye.
To keep up appearances, they decided that one of them should remain onguard that night as before. The lot fell upon Pratt. At nightfall theothers, equipped with the compass and torch and two short stout sticks,put off in the pram, and, landing on the island, without much difficultystruck their old clearing--now clearer than ever, and redolent of smokeand fire---and wound their way to the ruined cottage. The moaningsounded more eerie than they had yet heard it, rising and falling withthe fitful gusts.
When they reached the old garden, they bent low, approached the ruinsunder cover of the tallest plants, and waited a while at the foot of thewall before venturing into the entrance. Warrender kept guard on thelower floor while Armstrong, who knew the place better, explored theupper storey thoroughly with the aid of the torch, which he keptcarefully shaded from outside view. Above his head, somewhere on theroof, the dismal note sounded continually. He went into the easternroom from which he had seen the signal light. No light was visible.Returning below stairs, he examined the whole of the premises with equalcare. Everything was as it had been. There was nothing to indicate thatany one had entered the place since his last visit.
"We shall have to make a night of it," said Warrender. "It was morningwhen Pratt saw some one in the lower room. It doesn't follow that hecomes every morning, or, indeed, that he has ever come again; but we hadbetter wait on the chance."
"Let us go upstairs, then, and sit against the wall where we can see thewindow. I don't believe that signal can be seen from the sea, and thefact that it can be seen from here seems to show that the signallerexpects some one to be at the cottage. It won't be easy to keep awake,but we mustn't fall asleep together."
With backs against the wall, arms folded, and legs stretched on thefloor, they sat watching. No light shone; there was no sound but thoseproduced by the wind in the leaves and that monotonous, provoking,doleful wail from the roof. Hour after hour passed. Now and then eachgot up in turn to stretch his limbs. One or the other dozed at times.The still hours crept on; nothing happened; it seemed that theirpatience was to meet with no reward.
It was not until the faint grey tint of early dawn was stealing up theeastern horizon that a sound below caught Armstrong's attentive ear. Henudged Warrender dozing by his side. Grasping their sticks, they roseand tiptoed to the doorway. Some one was clumsily mounting the stairs.They peeped out. At the farther end of the landing a large, dark shaperose from the staircase, turned at the head, and went into the westernroom. Slipping off his boots, Warrender crept stealthily along the walland looked in after the intruder. The room was dark, but, against thetwilight framed by the window-opening, he saw the legs and feet of a mandisappearing upwards outside. In a few moments there came scrapingsounds from the roof; the moaning suddenly ceased, and after a littlethe man's feet reappeared; he was lowering himself into the room.Warrender stole back; at Armstrong's side he watched the man returnacross the landing to the staircase, and heard his heavy footsteps as hedescended.
"Watch from this window; I'll go to the other," whispered Warrender.
From these posts of observation, commanding almost the whole of thesurroundings of the cottage, they looked for the emergence of thevisitor. He did not appear; nor, after his footsteps had ceased, didthey hear a sound. Had he gone into one of the lower rooms? LeavingArmstrong to keep watch at his window, Warrender, in his stockingedfeet, stole down the stairs, and peeped into each of the rooms and thekitchen and scullery in turn. The dawn was growing; but the man was notto be seen. All was silent. A slight whistle summoned Armstrong;together the boys quietly and rapidly ranged the lower floor, takingadvantage of the increasing light to search for some secrethiding-place, some recess or cranny in the wall. There was nothing. Thewalls were too thin to enclose space enough for a man to hide. Wherehad he gone? He had not left the place by doorway or window; he must besomewhere within.
"The cellar!" said Armstrong, remembering the scrap of paper he hadfound there.
Warrender ran upstairs, slipped on his boots, and returned. The door atthe head of the cellar staircase was closed. They opened it gently,listening. There was no sound from below. Cautiously, step by step,they descended. At the foot of the staircase they held their breath fora moment. Then Warrender flashed the torch. The cellar was empty. Theyexamined every inch of the walls up to the height of a man. Thebrick-work was whole; not a brick was displaced, not a seam of mortarmissing. They tramped over the black, dusty floor; everywhere it wassolid; there was no hollow ringing beneath their feet. Scraping away alittle of the coal dust, they found that the floor also was of brickexcept at the foot of the steps, where there was a large flagstone.Something caught Armstrong's eye. He stooped.
"Look here," he said. The joint between the flagstone and the brickworkof the floor had a sharp, well-defined edge. The crevice was free fromcoal dust.
"A little suspicious, eh?" said Warrender. "Stamp on the stone."
"Hold hard! What if that fellow is underneath it?"
"We've got to the point where we must take risks. But it's not crediblethat any one actually lives down below, even if there is a below. Try akick or two."
But there was no ringing sound when Armstrong stamped; the stone waseither laid firmly on the earth, or it was so thick that, if there was ahollow beneath it, the fact would not be detected. Nor, when Armstrongtrod heavily all over its surface, was there the slightest sign ofmovement.
"Feel along the edge," Warrender suggested.
Armstrong went down on hands and knees and drew his finger along thebase of the lowest step.
"A slight crack here, at the left end," he said.
"Big enough to get your finger in?"
"No; it can't be more than an eighth of an inch wide. It's upright,between the step and the wall. Looks as if the stone has shifted."
"Well, if you can't get your finger in, try your knife blade."
"Wait a bit, there's another crack, smaller still, right along the edgeof the step, between it and the upright slab."
They had both lowered their voices to a whisper. Armstrong gave theupright a push, near the middle. It was firm, unyielding. But pushingleftwards, he felt a slight movement, and at the extreme end, a verygentle pressure caused the slab to swing inwards easily, the right halfof it at the same time moving outwards.
"By gum, it works on a pivot!" exclaimed Armstrong, under his breath."We're on the track! But this opening's only about six inches wide;nobody but a baby could crawl through it."
For a few moments they held their breath, listening for sounds. All wassilent. Then Warrender dropped on all fours and shone his torch intothe dark gap. The space was empty. Armstrong thrust in his hand, andfelt over the
earthen floor, then along the edge of the flagstone, andfinally beneath it.
"There's a hollow space here," he said. "And, I say, here's a metalhand-grip just below the flagstone."
He tugged it; there was no movement. He pushed it on each side in turn,still without result. Baffled, he sat on his haunches.
"What's the hand-grip for?" he said. "Obviously for moving something.Then why doesn't anything move?"
"Perhaps it can only be operated from below," Warrender suggested. "Ifthis is an entrance to the cellar, it may be left open when any onecomes this way."
"That's not likely. An entrance that can only be opened from one sideisn't worth much. No, something sticks, and if that fellow went througha few minutes ago, it can't be for want of use. _Why_ does it stick,then?"
Armstrong pondered for a few moments, then said suddenly, "Possibly it'smy pressure on the stone. Let's try."
He moved back, so that the weight of his body bore upon the rear insteadof the fore end of the stone. Then, however, he found that he could notreach the hand-grip.
"Why not try the other side?" said Warrender. "There may be another gripthere."
The other side of the staircase was open to the cellar, and Armstrongwas able to thrust his arm into the aperture below the step withouttreading on the flagstone.
"Got it!" he said, a moment later. "There's a grip here. It moves in aquarter-circle. Something--a disk of stone, I fancy--is revolving."
He pressed on the flagstone; still there was no distinct movementdownwards, though it seemed to have yielded a trifle.
"Clearly it won't shift until the other grip is turned," he said. "Buthow to get at that?"
After a little consideration he had another idea. Going a few steps upthe staircase, he turned, and crawled down head first until he was ableto get his hand under the edge of the stone.
"All right, old man," he said, cheerfully. "I've moved the grip now.Keep clear of the other end of the stone."
Lying full stretch on the staircase, he pressed on the stone beneathhim. It sank gently; the other end moved upwards, and in a few secondsthe stone stood upright in the middle of a dark gap. Warrender bentdown, holding the electric torch just above the opening.
"The bottom's only about five feet deep," he said. "It's the end ofsome sort of passage. Come down, old man, and we'll explore ittogether."
"'THE BOTTOM'S ONLY ABOUT FIVE FEET DEEP.'"]
They dropped lightly into the cavity. By the light of the torch theysaw that on each side a flat circular wheel of stone, lacking onequadrant, moved on an iron axle in such a way that a half-turn of thehand-grip removed the support of the flagstone and allowed the corner todrop down. The flagstone was nicely balanced on a revolving iron rod letinto a socket at each end. This contrivance formed the entrance to anarrow tunnel about four feet wide, and something over five feet high inthe centre. Neither of the boys could stand upright in it. The floorwas of hard-beaten earth; the walls and the arched roof were of ancientbrick, covered with an incrustation of slimy moss.
"An old smugglers' tunnel, I'll be bound," said Armstrong. "It will bevery odd if we have struck a lair of modern smugglers. Just look atyour compass and see what direction it takes."
The needle swung almost perpendicular to the course of the tunnel.
"Eastward," said Warrender. "That's strange. I thought it probably ransouth, to somewhere near that place at the end of the island where wesaw the marks of a boat the other day."
"It seems to shelve downward slightly. Looks as if it runs under thechannel."
"Towards Pratt's uncle's grounds. Let's explore."
"Better switch off your light, then. We can find our way in the dark bytouching the sides."
They went forward in single file, stepping gingerly, and bending theirheads to avoid the roof. The air smelt musty and dank, and wasunpleasant and oppressive. For a time the floor sloped gentlydownwards, but presently they were aware that it had taken an upwardtrend.
"We've crossed the channel," said Armstrong in a whisper that thevaulted walls made unnaturally loud.
A little later they noticed ahead of them a space dimly illuminated.Moving forward cautiously, they found themselves at the bottom of acircular shaft. Far above them they saw daylight in parallel streaks.
"A dry well," murmured Warrender, "roughly boarded over." Consultinghis compass, he added, "Still eastwards. Rummy if the tunnel goes tothe Red House."
Pursuing their way in utter darkness as before, the floor still risingvery slightly, they became aware by and by that the tunnel had enlarged.From the centre they could not touch the wall on either side, and thegreater lightness of the air gave them a sense of spaciousness.Suddenly Armstrong, who was leading, stumbled over something on thefloor and fell forward. His hands, instinctively thrust out, werearrested by a bundle encased in tarpaulin. He straightened himself. Fora moment or two they waited, straining their ears. There was no sound.
"A light," murmured Armstrong.
The light revealed that they had arrived at a small chamber about twelvefeet square and seven or eight feet high. The farther end was broken bythe tunnel. In each side wall, a foot below the roof, were let a coupleof iron rings, deeply rusted.
"For holding torches," said Armstrong.
The chamber was empty except for three bundles on the floor. It wasover one of these that Armstrong had stumbled. Two of them werecompletely covered with tarpaulin, and roped; the third was partly openat the top.
"They're like the bundles I saw Rush and the other fellow carry up fromthe boat," said Armstrong.
"Queer smuggling," said Warrender, bending over the open bale. "Itseems to hold nothing but paper."
He took up the topmost sheet. It was a thin, semi-transparent paper,and crackled to the touch.
"This isn't newspaper," he said.
"Cigarette paper, perhaps," said Armstrong. "But where's the 'baccy?"
"Can't smell any. I wonder how much farther the tunnel goes?"
Entering it at the extreme end of the chamber, Warrender came within ayard to a contrivance similar to that which gave access from the cellar.
"Here's the end," he said. "Look, the grips are turned. Shall we risklifting the stone?"
"Dangerous," said Armstrong. "Goodness knows where we'd findourselves."
Scarcely had he spoken when from above came the dull sound of footsteps.Switching off the light, Warrender backed into the chamber and hastilycrossed it with Armstrong, both moving on tiptoe. They re-entered thetunnel, crept along for a few yards, then halted, listeningbreathlessly. They heard the footsteps of one man in the chamber theyhad just left. The footsteps ceased, and were followed by a rustling.It seemed clear that their presence was unsuspected, and they venturedto tiptoe back until, near the opening of the tunnel, they were able topeep into the chamber. By the dim light that came through the apertureleft open by the revolved flagstone on the farther side, they saw ashort, stout man drawing sheets of paper from the opened package. Hecounted them as he took them up, and presently turned, carried themthrough the opening, and let down the flagstone behind him. There wasnot light enough by which to identify him.
"THEY SAW A SHORT, STOUT MAN DRAWING SHEETS OF PAPER FROMTHE OPENED PACKAGE."]
The boys re-entered the chamber, and listened until the sound of hisretreating footsteps above had died away. Then Warrender switched onthe light, took a sheet of paper from the top of the bale, folded it,and put it into his breast pocket.
"Now for home," he whispered. "We've something for Percy to start a newtheory on."