"Come on, you're wanted," he said, with an unpleasant smile; "they're going to ask you some questions."
"Eh, what? Who's going to ask me some questions?" said George, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "Eh?" as he looked at his gaoler in great surprise. "Oh yes, I remember now—all right, lead on, I'm with you."
He sprang from his hard couch, and stretched himself as he spoke. He had not yet had time to think or he would scarcely have answered as cheerily; neither had he seen the unpleasant look on the man's face, which portended anything but something pleasant awaiting him. However, he followed his guide, who led him out of the building across the courtyard he had entered in the morning, to a sort of miniature tower standing alone. The place was of peculiar structure, and there was no doubt that it was not built by European hands. So interested was he in the place that he drew the warder's attention to it.
"What place is this? part of the prison?"
"Ay, it's part of the prison, but a part not much used—until now," and he turned to the door, fumbling with a great key in the lock.
Helmar's curiosity was still further aroused. The man's words conveyed hidden meaning.
"Yes, but what is it for? Does it contain another series of cells?"
"You will soon find out what it is for unless you are sensible, and it certainly contains another series of cells," replied the man, flinging back the heavy iron-studded door, which creaked and groaned as if it hadn't been opened for years.
Without another word the warder led the way in. The air was musty and dark, and George shuddered as he stepped into the dark passage that lay before him. As soon as he had passed in the gaoler turned and closed the door, and then proceeded to guide our hero to the head of a flight of stone steps. Here he took a lighted lantern from the wall, and together they descended into the depths below.
The moment he put his foot on the first step of the stairway, George remembered Naoum's words. Was this the place in which the interrogation was to be carried out! The very thought of it sent a cold shiver of terror down his back, but he knew that it would be worse than useless to fight against the inevitable; even if he refused to go farther his retreat was entirely cut off, and doubtless his gaoler could summon aid to force him to the tribunal. No, he would endeavour to put a bold face upon it, and trust to circumstances and Naoum's help to see him through. Keeping close to his guide he steadily descended. The staircase wound round and round, and as they got lower and lower the steps became more and more damp and slippery, until at last he had to cling to a sort of rough wooden balustrade for support. At last the end of what seemed an interminable journey was reached, and the two men stood in front of an iron door. This, with some difficulty, the gaoler opened, and proceeded along a short narrow passage which ended in an archway covered by some rough damp fabric. Pulling this aside, the man led the way.