Standing in the gloomy subterranean dungeon, we listened to the old sergeant’s story—the fissure, the discovery of the walled-up entrance, the iron cage, and the human bones.
“Oh, do come out,” I said. “Your picturesque Spaniards, Sara, are too much for me.”
“But who were the bones, I wonder?” mused Iris.
“Yes,” said Aunt Diana, “who were they? Mr. Mokes, what do you think?”
Mokes thought “they were rascals of some kind, you know—thieves, perhaps.”
“Huguenots,” from John.
“Recreant priests,” from myself.
“The architect of the fort, imprisoned that the secrets of its construction might die with him,” suggested Miss Sharp.
“A prince of the blood royal, inconvenient to have around, and therefore sent over here to be out of the way,” said Iris.
“For my part, I feel convinced that the bones were the mortal remains of ‘Casper Hauser,’ the ‘Man with the Iron Mask,’ and ‘Have we a Bourbon among us,’ ” said Sara. Mokes looked at her. He never was quite sure whether she was simply strong-minded or a little out of her head. He did not know now, but decided to move a little farther away from her vicinity.