He stepped through the opening in the wall, and lifted the candle which the valet had placed on the floor while he was raising the panel from within. By its light I could see the first steps of a flight which led down into darkness.
"We will take Jackson with us," he continued. "Keep an eye on him, Mr. Phillips, if you please."
It was a strange procession that we made. First Peace, with the candle, then Ransome, with the valet, following, while I and Harbord brought up the rear. We descended some thirty steps, formed in the thickness of the wall, opened a heavy door, and so found ourselves in a narrow chamber, some twelve feet long by seven broad. Upon a mattress at the further end lay a man, gagged and bound. As the light fell upon his features, Ransome sprang forward, shouting his name.
"Silas Ford, by thunder!"
With eager fingers we loosened the gag and cut the ropes that bound his wrists. He sat up, turning his long, thin face from one to the other of us as he stretched the cramp from his limbs.
"Thank you, gentlemen," said he. "Well, Ransome, how are things?"
"Bad, sir; but it's not too late."
He nodded his head, passing his hands through his hair with a quick, nervous movement.
"You've caught my clever friend, I see. Kindly go through his pockets, will you? He has something I must ask him to return to me."
We found it in Jackson's pocket-book—a check, antedated a week, for five thousand pounds, with a covering letter to the manager of the bank. Ford took the bit of stamped paper, twisting it to and fro in his supple fingers.