At that instant the instrument in Dave’s hand gave forth a flood of light. The light fell full upon the fleeting figure of a man. The man turned half about. Having caught the fellow’s profile in bold relief, Dave recognized him instantly. And then the fugitive, with the dog at his heels, plunged down the narrow, winding stairs.
Dave was fast, but not fast enough. Once, as he raced down those stairs, he caught a glimpse of man and dog. Then he tripped over a broken step, plunged downward, hit his head against the wall, was out for thirty seconds, and so lost the race.
He arrived at the castle door just in time to see two fleeting shadows, a man and a dog, lose themselves in the deeper shadow of a small, low stone structure fifty yards or more from the castle.
As he stood balanced on the threshold he suddenly became conscious of a tremendous roar overhead. It seemed that one of those tri-motored bombers must crash against the castle’s tower. And then?
In sudden terror he fairly tumbled down two flights of stairs, banged against the massive iron-bound door to the dungeon, tumbled through and slammed the door behind him, just as a terrific blast set the castle shuddering from towers to dungeon.
In the moments that followed they could hear the dull thud of masonry falling. But it all seemed very far away, like part of a bad dream.
There came a second crash, a third. Then all was silent and the ghosts that perhaps haunted this dungeon, spirits of those who suffered here in solitary confinement centuries ago, might, Dave supposed, walk in peace.
It was Alice who broke that silence. Her voice was as calm and restful as it would have been were she seated before the fire in her own kitchen. She was speaking to the two waifs from London’s slums. They were curled up beside her on an ancient stone bench.
“Yes, children,” was her answer to a whispered question, “Louise and Charlotte, the two lady spies, lived and worked as spies for a long time. They performed many daring feats.
“You know,” she went on, and they were all listening now, “Louise and Charlotte always had messages to carry across the line. In places there was a river to cross. Always there was the terrible wall of barbed wire and traps. Louise, who could not swim and dared not trust a boat, went across the river many times on a large chopping bowl.”