It was not much help he wanted. In a few moments we were on the roof.
"As I thought," he said. "Do you see?"
The shed, with its slanting roof, served to block a narrow, overgrown path between two precipitous chalk walls.
"We'll go carefully," said Quarles. "There may be worse than poachers' traps here."
Without help from me he dropped from the roof, and I followed him.
The natural passage was winding, and about fifty yards long, and opened into another pit of some size. A pit I call it, but it was as much a cave as a pit, part of it running deeply into the earth, and only about a third of it being open to the sky. The cave part had a rough, sandy floor, and here was a long shed of peculiar construction. It was raised on piles, about eight feet high; the front part formed a kind of open veranda, the back part being closed in. The roof was thatched with bark and dried bracken, and against one end of the veranda was a notched tree trunk, serving as a ladder.
"As I expected," said Quarles, with some excitement. "We must get onto the veranda for a moment. I think we are alone here, but keep your ears open."
The shed was evidently used sometimes. There was a stone slab which had served as a fireplace, and from a beam above hung a short chain, on which a pot could easily be fixed.
"We'll get away quickly," said Quarles. "Patience, Wigan. I believe we are going to witness a wonderful thing."
"When?"