But light there was none, and the fitful gleams of the wandering moon served only to make the darkness darker.
Once, as it floated clear for an instant, I caught sight of the bed, and a chair, and some withered flowers on the floor, left there, no doubt, since the day of the funeral.
Next moment all was dark again.
Tim had used the gleam to find the door, and I heard him call me.
“Come away. Keep your hand on the wall and feel with your feet for the stairs. It’s down below the arms will be.”
I am sure, had he looked, he would have been able to see the whiteness of my face through the darkness; but he was better employed.
“Here it is,” he said. “Now keep your hand on the rail and go gently down.”
“How’ll we find our way back to the ladder?” said I.
“We’ve to get our guns first,” said he, shortly.
When we reached the bottom of the stairs, we seemed to be in a passage or hall that went right and left.