He went up the dark, damp passage. It was so low in places that the children had to put down their heads in case they were bumped. The passage wound round and round and in and out, always going uphill, sometimes quite steeply. After a while it was not cut out of the rock, but out of sand and soil. It was quite dry by the time they had gone a few hundred yards.
Except for the noise that their feet made now and again the children were perfectly quiet. Presently they came to a wider piece of the passage and this widened out so much in a few moments that it became a kind of underground room. Here were more boxes, larger ones and much stronger looking. All were empty.
“Think of the old-time smugglers sitting here and having a feast, opening the boxes and barrels, selling the goods, going off again in the middle of the night!” said Peggy, looking round. The children could imagine it all very well.
“Aren’t we nearly up to the Old House now, Jack?” asked Nora. “We seem to have come a long way, always going uphill!”
“I think we must be very near,” said Jack in a low voice, “That oak door over there in the corner must lead into the cellars, I should think.”
“Let’s open it and see,” whispered Mike. He took hold of the iron handle of the door and pushed gently. It opened outwards, and Mike looked through it. There was a flight of stone steps beyond, leading steeply upwards.
The children went softly up them. There were eighteen of them.
At the top Jack swung his torch around. They were in a dark, underground cellar, set round with shelves. Empty bottles stood in rows. Barrels stood in corners.
“This is the cellar of the Old House, I’m sure,” said Jack. “And look - there are the steps leading into the house itself!”
His torch showed a short flight of steps in the far corner, leading up to a door that stood ajar, for a faint crack of daylight came through.