Ralph brought his hand down with a sudden clap on his nephew's shoulders. Tchigorsky regarded him long and earnestly as if he would read his very soul.
"You will do," he said curtly. "I am satisfied you will do and I never made a mistake in my estimate of a man yet. Ravenspur, are you ready?"
"Ay, ay. I have been ready this long time."
The lamp was extinguished and list slippers were donned, and with no more provision than a box of wax matches they left the room. Instructed by Ralph Ravenspur, they fell behind him, each holding by the coat-tail of the other. Down the corridor they went, down the stairs, along stone-flagged passages until they reached the vast series of cellars and vaults over which the castle was built.
There were many of these with twists and turns and low passages; the place was large enough to conceal a big force of troops. And yet, though it was pitchy dark and intricate as a labyrinth, the blind man made no error; he did not hesitate for a moment.
Well as Geoffrey imagined that he knew the castle, he was fain to confess his utter ignorance alongside the knowledge displayed by the blind guide.
Ralph pulled up suddenly and began to speak.
"I brought you here to-night, Geoffrey," he said, "so that you might have the first lesson in the task that lies before you. Listen! can you hear anything?"
"I hear the roar of the sea, the waves grating on the shingle."