A sudden thought struck me as he spoke. It was one of those inspirations that come in moments of suspense.
“But you surely have no cachots here?”
“As good as in the Châtelet, monsieur.”
“I saw the Vidame there,” I said, “and know the Châtelet. I doubt if what you have here is anything like that.”
“Would you care to see for yourself? I have the key here,” and de Bresy pointed to his side, where at his belt a large key hung attached to a thick silver chain.
“Well,” I answered, “it will kill some of the time we have to spend here, waiting for the Prince to awaken. Will you come, too, Vaux?” And as I glanced at the page my eyes told him to say “No.” He was quick to grasp this; but he was also a good actor, and he hesitated a moment before replying.
“I think not, monsieur. I shall await your return here.”
We left him, card-building once more, and stepped out where, after a few words with Comminges, de Bresy led me through the corridor, and stopped before a small, iron-studded door. Beside it, in a niche, a lantern burned, and taking this in one hand my companion opened the door, and, as it swung back creaking, he pointed downward with his key, saying:
“Facilis descensus Averni.”
I laughed as I looked down the black passage, with its old and worn steps. I laughed because I thought it would be for me to finish the quotation; and then I followed de Bresy as he picked his way downward. Twice were we stopped by doors, each of which he opened with his master key, and each as it opened disclosed a stairway, darker, more hideous than the one before. And now we found ourselves in a small landing, facing yet another door.