The lad struck the floor in a heap. Although he felt sure that the crash must have aroused everyone in the house, he lay perfectly still, listening. Above he could hear the sounds of footsteps, and directly a door, which he judged to be the door into the cellar from above, opened.
The head of Duval appeared in the doorway. In his hand he held a flashlight, and Hal could make him out plainly. A second face peered over his shoulder, and Hal recognized it instantly as that of the Apache's chief lieutenant, who had accosted them in the den.
"What was it?" asked the lieutenant.
"I don't see anything," was the reply.
At that moment a furry shape calmly ascended the stairs and stopped at
Duval's feet. It was a black cat, which stopped to lick his right paw.
Duval stooped down and examined him. Then he arose with a laugh.
"Mon Dieu!" he exclaimed. "It was the cat. He must have upset the jars of jelly and preserves. See, he is covered with it."
"By Jove! This is luck," muttered Hal to himself. "The cat must have been sleeping among them when I knocked them down."
He made no move, and directly the two men and the cat disappeared and the door closed with a bang.
Hal waited a few minutes, and then arose slowly to his feet. While Duval had held the flashlight, the lad had taken in his surroundings, and now he cautiously approached where he knew the stairway to be. His outstretched hand touched the rail and his foot found the lowest step. He ascended silently.
The knob turned under his hand, and the door swung back without even a creak. Inside was perfect blackness.