Upon his hands and knees now, one after the other of the former carefully put out before him to feel for any break in the roof which might plunge him to the depths beneath, as well as to seek for, and haply find, any trapdoor or entrance to what was below, he crept carefully forward, directing his course to where he supposed the centre of the roof was. Yet, at first, he encountered nothing beneath the mass of leaves swept on to the roof by the autumn winds, or nothing else beyond another stack of chimneys. Chimneys that were warm like the others.
"They keep good fires," he thought. "'Tis fortunate! Pray heaven the whole house is warmed, if I can find a way into it. Otherwise I am likely to perish of the cold."
While he so reflected his hand struck a projection, something that rose perpendicularly from the roof for some three feet or so, as he felt by running that hand upon it. What was it?
He knew in an instant. The side-rail of a ladder rising above the roof--a side-rail which anyone, on emerging from below, would grasp as they stepped forth. Here was the entrance!
Yet, flat and level with the tin covering, or leads, there was still the closed trap, it being fastened from within by some bolt or pin, but--as further search proved--with its great hinge outside, so that it could be pushed upwards from the inside.
Shortly, however, he had forced the trap open--the dagger-knife with which he had provided himself having cut away the tin and woodwork from around that hinge, so that he could lift it some few inches, and, drawing it towards him, he drew also the bolt inside from out the staple. The road was free to him now!
Without a moment's hesitation he descended, one hand grasping the side-rail, the other the hilt of his sword; carefully counting the steps as he went. Fifteen in all he numbered, so that he thought the floor below must be close at hand--when, suddenly, the steps ceased. Yet--there was nothing below! No floor that he could feel, though he lowered himself as far as he might, grasping the bottom rung and the rail for support, and plunging his long leg down into the space. Nor even when, bending down as low as possible in another position, he tried to touch something solid with his sword!
Nothing!
He was not cold now; instead, all over him he felt the perspiration ooze out at the idea that here was a guet-apens, into which he had almost stumbled.
"Doubtless an oubliette," he thought, "a death-trap for any coming hastily down. Heavens! those loups de Lorraine forgot no precaution. Have any others ever passed the way that I have come, found an entrance from across the chasm to the roof, only to perish here?" Yet, even as he spoke, he was standing firmly on the lower step and feeling for his tinder box and lanthorn. A few moments and the latter was ignited, and, even with the dim rays it cast around, he was able to see and appreciate his position.