After several minutes spent thus in silent perambulation of the old house, they halted for a moment while Platzoff unlocked a door, after which they passed forward into a room, in the middle of which Ducie was left standing while Platzoff relocked the door, and then busied himself for a minute in trimming the lamp he had brought with him, which had been his only guide through the dark and silent house, for the servants had all gone to bed more than an hour ago.
Ducie thus left to himself for a little while had time for reflection. The floor on which he was standing was covered with a thick soft carpet, consequently he was in one of the best rooms in the house. The atmosphere of this room was penetrated with a very faint aroma of pot-pourri, so faint that unless Captain Ducie's nose had been more than ordinarily keen he would never have perceived it. To the best of his knowledge there was only one room in Bon Repos that was permeated with the peculiar scent of pot-pourri. That room was M. Platzoff's private study, to which access was obtained through his bedroom. Ducie had been only twice into this room, but he remembered two facts in connexion with it. First, the scent already spoken of: secondly, that besides the door which opened into it from the bedroom, there was another door which he had noticed as being shut and locked both times that he was there. If the room in which they now were was really M. Platzoff's study, they had probably obtained access to it through the second door.
While silently revolving these thoughts in his mind, Captain Ducie's fingers were busy with the formation of two tiny paper pellets, each no bigger than a pea. Unseen by Platzoff he contrived to drop these pellets on the carpet.
"I must really apologize," said the Russian, next moment, "for keeping you waiting so long; but this lamp will not burn properly."
"Don't hurry yourself on my account," said Ducie. "I am quite jolly. My eyes are ready bandaged: I am only waiting for the axe and the block."
"We are not going to dispose of you in quite so summary a fashion," said the Russian. "One minute more and your eyesight shall be restored to you."
Ducie's quick ears caught a low click, as though some one had touched a spring. Then there was a faint rumbling, as though something were being rolled back on hidden wheels.
"Lend me your hand again, and bend that tall figure of yours. Step carefully. There is another staircase to descend--the last and the steepest of all."
Keeping fast hold of Platzoff's hand, Ducie followed slowly and cautiously, counting the steps as he went down. They were of stone, and were twenty-two in number. At the bottom of the staircase another door was unlocked. The two passed through, and the door was shut and relocked behind them.
"Be blind no longer!" said Platzoff, taking off the handkerchief and handing it to Ducie with a smile. A few seconds elapsed before the latter could discern anything clearly. Then he saw that he was in a small vaulted chamber about seven feet in height, with a flagged floor, but without furniture of any kind save a small table of black oak on which Platzoff's lamp was now burning. The atmosphere of this dungeon had struck him with a sudden chill as he went in. At each end was a door, both of iron. The one that had opened to admit them was set in the thick masonry of the wall; the one at the opposite end seemed built into the solid rock.