"Most extraordinary!" mumbled Vernon King. "Byzantine masonry, beyond a doubt. Observe the squaring of the blocks, and the composition of the mortar. This is no such slovenly work as Turkish masons do. The master-builders of old laid these stones."
"If it's safe, what are we waiting for?" I barked.
Our nerves were on edge.
"Oh, take your time," said Hugh impatiently, and he lowered himself, feet first.
The others followed him, one by one, and I brought up the rear, ashamed of myself for the temper I had exhibited. The pitch of the stairs was so sharp that we had to bend only a little in passing under the rim of the opening. They were barely wide enough for one man, and I counted thirty of them before they terminated in a passage that led off at right angles, with an appreciable downward slope.
"Hold up!" Hugh called back to us a moment later. "Here's an opening into another passage. There's a step down. Why, this is the drain again!"
We joined him, incredulous, only to be convinced at once that he was right. The passage debouched on the sewer some distance inland from the grating of the dungeon.
"My God!" groaned Hugh. "And we've gone through everything for this! Was there ever such a sell!"
The vaulted roof echoed his words. The "drip-drip" of slime and fungi was a melancholy punctuation for them. But the reaction loosened our taut nerves. The one thought of all of us was to comfort Hugh.
"There may be some explanation," said Nikka.