"Got to get down there all the same," Balmayne grunted. "I'll make a loop in the rope and put my foot in it. You used to be pretty strong at one time. I suppose you can manage to let me down safely?"
Leona smiled with contempt as she surveyed the slim figure before her. She was always proud of her strength. She bared her beautiful white arm and showed the strong sinews and muscles under the skin.
"You need not be afraid," she said. "If I couldn't--ah!"
She broke off, her voice rose to a scream. She grew whiter far than the linen about her shoulders. Balmayne laid his hand on her mouth in an instant.
"Fool," he exclaimed, hoarsely. "Do you want to bring the police upon me?"
Leona pointed to the window, against which Charlton's face had been pressed a moment before. The dimness of it, the stern accusing eyes made up a picture so grim, so ghostly, that the woman's heart turned to water within her. The fear of yesterday took the strength out of her limbs.
"The face," she gasped, "the face of Charlton. At the window. It was just for an instant, and seemed to read my soul. Can't you see it?"
Balmayne could see nothing, and said so bluntly. As a matter of fact, the face was gone. But the terror of the Countess still remained.
"Of course, there was no face there," Balmayne flared out. "That's the worst of doing this kind of thing with a woman--one never knows when she's going to have an attack of nerves. The idea of Charlton standing at the window and knowing what we are going to do is too good. Pull yourself together."
The trembling fit passed away, the woman was herself again. All the same, Balmayne was not without misgiving as he put his foot in the loop. But the crank of the windlass turned steadily and smoothly, the stone walls slid by, and presently the adventurer stood at the bottom of the well. There was no water, nothing but a slight dampness underfoot.