He hesitated a moment, not knowing whether it would be prudent, but finally curiosity overruled prudence, and he decided to do so.
Stooping over, he felt his way for possibly fifty feet, when he came to a solid wall. Here seemed to be the end of the passage.
He began to feel slowly with his hand, when another small door, only about twelve inches square, flew open, and he looked through it into another subterranean apartment. It did not appear to be occupied, but on a small wooden table was a candle, and by the light of the candle Grit could see a variety of articles, including several trunks, one open, revealing its contents to be plate.
"What does it mean?" thought Grit.
Then the thought came to him, for, though he was a country boy, his wits had been sharpened by his recent experiences. "It must be a storehouse of stolen goods."
This supposition seemed in harmony with the character of the man who had lured him here, and now held him captive.
"If I were only outside," thought Grit, "I would tell Mr. Baker of this. The police ought to know it."
Just then he heard his name called, and, turning suddenly, distinguished by the faint light which the candle threw into the passage the stern and menacing countenance of Colonel Johnson.
"Come out here, boy!" he called, in an angry tone. "I have an account to settle with you."