The sound he heard was a regular tap-tap, as though someone was moving about in a room directly above that in which he stood. What did it mean? Why, Laurence decided without hesitation, the sounds of footsteps were those made by Lena as she strolled about in the barn. The room in which he found himself must accordingly be exactly under the barn itself. And yet, throughout the years he and his father had spent at the Manse, not a suspicion had entered the head of either that the old barn—dating back, it was said, to the time of Cromwell—was the centre of a labyrinth of secret passages and chambers such as it now seemed to be.
There were two courses open to him, Laurence thought to himself—to return by the narrow staircase, find his way out into the light of day, and return later with a lantern and some weapon of defence; or to take one of the two passages which he had found, and discover whither it led.
Wisdom and common sense urged the former course; daring and, perhaps, foolhardiness clamoured for the adventure that might be the result of further exploring. And, as might have, perhaps, been expected, the verdict of common sense was dismissed, the girl waiting upstairs forgotten, and Laurence, finding one of the dark passages close at hand, plunged into it, and, feeling his way with a hand on either wall, quickly left the square room under the barn behind him.
The passage seemed of interminable length, nor was there any break in the wall on either side. Not a ray of light pierced the grim darkness. Not a sound was audible save that of his own footsteps. The air was heavy with an odour of decay. Altogether the experience was one which an ordinary person would not relish. But then, as has been said, Laurence was no ordinary person. He hardly knew what fear was; the only time he had been really unnerved being after his experiences in tracking the cyclist on the moor. Every moment he considered it possible that he might encounter the man he believed to be lurking in the many possible hiding-places that there seemed to be. Yet he did not hesitate for one instant, though unarmed with so much as a walking-cane.
'Tis a long lane that has no turning, and at length the prowler in the dark was brought to a sudden standstill by his outstretched hand coming in contact with something—either a wall or a door—that completely barred his way.
Laurence fumbled about, in the hope of finding some catch or handle which would assure him that he had reached a door. He naturally presumed that it would be a door, for otherwise what would be the meaning of the long passage were it to lead nowhere? For some little time he searched in vain, then, deciding that there was no fear of the creature into whose haunts he had penetrated being in his immediate neighbourhood, the young man struck a match and held it high above his head.
The sight that met his gaze when the light of the vesta flared up and then burned quickly before going out was a strange one, yet he was prepared for what he saw. The passage down which he had come closely resembled a railway subway, such as that at King's Cross Station, London. Though on the whole fairly straight, it swerved once or twice in such a way that he was unable, when looking back, to see for any distance the path by which he had reached the oak door before which he was standing.
He was able to make a cursory examination of this door while the light lasted. It looked very old, and the damp stood upon it like beads of perspiration. It was heavily studded with iron knobs, and there was a massive-looking lock at the foot of it, and another near the top. Undoubtedly the man who had built the passage and this door had taken good care to have the best work put into them. What was the builder's scheme—the cause of all the secrecy? Nothing more likely than that it was an illegal one.
But Laurence's meditations on this subject were cut short by a sound that fell upon his ear.
Someone was talking—someone on the other side of the oak door.