“And as the pump is most probably worn out,” I said laughingly, “we’ll be content with the well.”
“Oh, if we find the well the pump-handle’s sure to be at the bottom, and— Hullo! what have we got here?”
I shared my companion’s wonder, for upon rounding a curve of the passage we came upon an opening in the great stones of the inner wall—an opening that was wonderfully perfect, being covered in by the cross-stones, which were in place over the passage where the doorway showed.
“Dark,” I said as I passed in. “No; only just here. There’s another wall, and quite a narrow passage not above three feet wide, and then it’s light again.”
“Let’s look,” said Denham. “Stop a minute, though. Don’t go in, or you may drop down some hole. Here, I’ll strike a light.”
The next minute a little match was lighting up the narrow place, with the wall close in front and then a passage going off to the right.
“Why, it’s like Hampton Court Maze done in stone,” said Denham. “But there, what did I say? Look at that hole.”
He pitched the remains of the burning match to the right, and it dropped down out of sight, lighting up the narrow way and then going out.
“That’s the well, I believe,” I said.
“Let well alone,” replied Denham. “We don’t want to tumble down there.—I say, Briggs, pick up that bit of stone, and reach in and pitch it down.”