Just the same, I never think of the place without shuddering. It was deathly silent, except for the ceaseless seepage of moisture, the occasional muffled boom of a wave spattering over its mouth and the squeaking of the gigantic black rats that swam ahead of us or wriggled into cracks in the serried courses of the masonry. Our electric torches shone feebly on the mossy walls, with their sickening fungus growths, their bright green, pendent weeds. Amorphous plants hung from the roof. The atmosphere was slimy, noisome, unclean. And always there was the "drip-drip-drip" of water.
We breathed more comfortably when our torches revealed overhead the bars of the stone grating in the floor of the dungeon.
"All quiet above," whispered Hugh, after listening intently. "Dark as hell, too. I say, how much farther do you suppose this drain goes?"
He trained his torch into the thick murk of the immense tube which extended beyond the grating as far as our eyes could penetrate.
"I'm inclined to believe it continues into the city, ably as far as the site of the Forum of Theodosius," King replied, his scholar's interest awake. "That was a region of palaces which would have required such a work of engineering. It should be well worth exploring."
"Never mind that now," urged Hugh. "We have another task on hand."
He pried up the grating with Watty's crowbar, the butt of which we rested on the ledge in which the grating fitted. This secured a space sufficiently wide for us to squeeze through, and after all of us had climbed up we eased the grating back into its bed, so that there was no trace remaining of our entrance.
The dungeon was the same barren cube of dusty stone that we had left by virtue of Watkins's aid. The ropes that had bound us were still on the floor where we had cast them. The door we had broken leaned against the wall. Obviously, Tokalji and his people had never even suspected how we had escaped, apparently, did not even know of the existence of the sewer.[[1]]
[[1]] Tokalji expressed great surprise when we told him about the sewer. He refused to enter it, and seemed to regard it as a danger to his house. Nikka thought that he would try to fill it in, but I believe Kara, who feared nothing, pointed out to him its usefulness for illicit purposes, and he changed his mind. J.N.
It is strange, and I fancy the only answer is Nikka's: that the modern non-Christian inhabitants of Constantinople look with superstitious fear upon the vast underground structures—baths, cisterns, conduits and sewers—left by the ancient Roumis, as the builders are usually called, do not want to see them or hear of them, never enter it if by chance one is discovered, and cover them up whenever they can.