“We don’t know that yet, sir, because we haven’t seen it,” said Ben, quietly. “This is only the way to the magazine. People in the old days knew what dangerous tackle it was, and took care of it according. But it’s going to be a dark job, and no mistake.”
The old soldier stepped in, and, stooping down in the middle of the blank stone chamber, took hold of a large copper ring and drew up one side of a heavy flagstone, which turned silently upon copper pivots, and this flag he laid back till it was supported by the ring.
“Looks darker down there, sir,” said Ben, as Roy stood beside him and they tried to pierce the gloom, but only for the latter to make out the dim outline of a stone step or two.
“You’ve been down here before, of course?” whispered Roy, as if the place impressed him.
“Yes, sir; once. There’s a door at the bottom, and that’s the magazine. It will be all feeling, sir. Will you go back while I try and get a keg?”
“No,” said Roy, firmly, but with an intense desire to say yes. “I shall stay while you go down. There can be no danger if you have no light.”
“Unless the rusty key strikes a light, sir.”
“Oh, that’s impossible,” whispered Roy.
“I suppose I’d better pull off my boots before I go down; it’ll perhaps be safer.”
He seated himself on the floor and pulled them off, Roy standing up, leaning against the wall, and doing the same.