“Yes, sir, I’m ready. I want to be satisfied about that powder, because it means so much to us, for I’m sure I don’t know how we could get any more in times like these. You might send an order to London or one of the places in Kent where they make it, but I should never expect to see it come down here. Well, we won’t waste time; so come along.”
Taking off his sword, and signing to Roy to do the same, he led the way to the flight of spiral steps in the base of the south-east tower, but, instead of going up, followed it down to where there was a low arched door on their left and an opening on their right.
“Long time since any one’s been in that old dungeon, Master Roy. Hundred years, I dare say. Maybe we shall be putting some one in, one of these days!”
“In there? Whom? What for?”
“Prisoners, sir, for fighting against the king.” The old fellow laughed, and went along through the opening on their right, which proved to be an arched passage very dimly lit by a series of little pipe-like holes sloping inward through the outer wall of the castle and opening about a foot above the moat. On their aft were doors of a row of cellars built beneath the old court-yard; and as Ben walked onward he said—
“Who’d think as there were green grass and flower-beds up above them, Master Roy? But we do see changes in this life. Halt! here we are.”
He stopped at the end of the passage, where there was a massive oak door-way facing them beneath a curious old Norman arch, and, after trying hard with three different keys, the rusty wards of the old lock allowed one to turn, and the door was pushed wide open, creaking back against the wall.
“Rather dark, sir,” said Ben. “Get on a deal better with a candle; but it wouldn’t do.”
Roy peered in, and, as his eyes grew more accustomed to the obscurity, he made out that he was gazing into a small stone chamber; but there was no sign of chest or keg, or door leading onward.
“Why, the place is empty, Ben,” said the boy, with a sigh of relief.