Roderic had been in Russia—he had visited the historic pile of masonry at St. Petersburg on the Volga known as the Fortress of Peter and Paul, and had seen its numerous dungeons, its impregnable gates and the wonderful methods in vogue among the troops guarding its walls.
Something about this structure in San Juan recalled the prison and fort of Holy Russia—perhaps it was the gloom, the dark dungeons and general funereal aspect of the place, for surely there could be little comparison otherwise.
Occasionally the moon appeared and gave them some means of seeing what lay ahead; but on these occasions they were compelled to lie quiet so that their presence might not be discovered.
All the while they were progressing.
A labyrinth of masonry surrounded them, and Roderic had to bring to bear many shrewd tactics in order to keep from getting lost.
His usual manner of doing this was simple and yet wonderfully effective.
When they came to a place where the passage forked, and it appeared puzzling to judge which way they should turn, he did not decide hastily but spent a little time in ascertaining whether one of the routes did not show more signs of usage than the other, and in every case he found a very distinct difference.
By following the passage in general use it stood to reason that he would sooner or later reach the closed dungeon.
Through such tactics, employed with success by those Nimrods of the forests in their search after game, Roderic had always been able to accomplish tasks that were deemed next to impossible by others of his craft, who governed their actions by antiquated rules lacking in common sense.
It was evident that they had crossed the Rubicon—that their bridges had been burned behind them.