By the glare of a pair of torches and a lantern we could see our way without difficulty, though our progress was slow by reason of the transport of the wounded men. The tunnel was paved with rough slabs of stone, while the walls and arched roof were composed of flints set in hard cement. The smoke from the torches dispelled any noxious odours, but of damp we found no trace.
We passed three massive doors in quick succession, and bearing in mind my father's warning, we closed and bolted them as we passed. Then, in silence, broken only by the dull rumble of our feet that re-echoed along the hollow passage, we slowly continued our way.
Suddenly there was a deep boom like the noise of distant thunder, and the solid ground beneath our feet trembled with the shock.
The explosion had taken place. Ashley Castle was no more!
Neither Granville nor Firestone spoke to me, for which I felt thankful, my heart being too full of grief and mortification. Like Ralph, I was now homeless, and except for the fact that I had not laid down my life, I had paid the price of loyalty to the utmost farthing.
Of the future I cared not one jot, though before I was clear of the passage my thoughts, thanks to the buoyancy of youth, assumed a more hopeful nature.
We must have walked for the best part of half an hour, and I was wondering where we should emerge, being ignorant of the direction of the tunnel, when the men who were on in front halted.
"The place is blocked up!" exclaimed one of them, who, holding a torch, was examining the rough flintwork.
Firestone and I were quickly at the spot, and we too could see no signs of an aperture, the tunnel ending in a half-moon-shaped wall.
"Surely we are not caught like rats in a trap!" asked Firestone. "Your father doubtless never explored the passage?"