His blood began to boil at the thought of Margaret's jeopardy. His memory was alive to all the deeds of cruelty he had heard of, and his hands clenched tightly, while he began to think of vengeance. His fingers went to his belt, and, drawing the dagger from its sheath, he gazed at it, and vowed that if those men had hurt his darling, or stood between her and her liberty, the steel should be reddened with the blood of her tormentors.
He sprang to his feet, caught up the lantern, and tested the rock as he and Engel had done when they entered the castle in the forest to search for William Tyndale. He scanned it thoroughly, but for a long time saw no trace of any opening. At last he observed what looked like a crack, and drawing the dagger from his belt again he thrust the point at it. The thin, keen-edged blade went in some little distance, and he moved it upwards. It ran up and up, till it would go no farther. He turned the blade, and ran it from right to left for the space of a couple of feet. Then down the left side the dagger moved. At the bottom the blade travelled easily towards the right.
That was proof that there was an opening in the rock, and he believed that the rock would move. But how? Was there a spring anywhere that must be touched before it would shift inwards and towards him? He began to search for it. With the lantern's aid he scanned the surface, inch after inch, intent on finding this spring, for he meant to get in, taking the tremendous risks, to look for his darling and bring her away, if he could find her, whatever the cost.
Nearly an hour went, and although he began to despair he could not bring himself to give up the attempt. Margaret must have been carried through that space which was nearly four feet high, and he, too, would go and bring her from the Holy House, even if he had to fight his way inch by inch. What could frustrate him when his dear one was there?
When the quest for the secret spring appeared so hopeless that he began to think the discovery was impossible, his finger, which travelled over the face of the rock near by this door very delicately, marked something unlike what was near it. He pressed the spot, and to his wonder and relief, and yet almost to his alarm, because of what might follow, the door moved slowly back to the left, and there was an open space before him.
CHAPTER XXIII
IN THE LION'S MOUTH
For a little while Herman's courage failed him. To ascend those steps which he could see would probably mean such fearful experiences that the bravest of the brave might shrink back and leave his task undone.
Yet now that he had such unquestionable proof that Margaret had been at this door, and as certainly had entered it in the company of the black-robed ones of the Inquisition, how could he think other than that she was lying in one of the cells, if not already enduring torture? Loving her as he did, he could not be so craven as to turn away and leave her in the hands of the tormentors!
The bare suggestion in his mind that she might possibly have been done to death made his soul stand up in arms, and his hesitation was gone in an instant. He ascended the steps without halting until he came to the topmost one and found himself looking along a passage with doors on either side.