Clue was fitting into clue like the pieces of a jig-saw puzzle. The detective’s heart beat fast with excitement. Then, like a cold hand crushing the hope out of him, came the realisation that the man with the buzzer stood full in his path, preventing him from reaching the end of the passage with the steps and the water that led to freedom. He was balked!
Never before in his life had Danny so longed to be a man, to be big and strong and a match for this spy. Then he would have crept up the passage and, springing on the man, grappled with him, flinging him to the ground there to leave him, bound and helpless while he made his escape, and bore his secret safe with him.
But what chance would a boy have against this enemy? Danny did not lack courage for the attempt, but he well knew that it would be a throwing away of all possible chance of escape. To sacrifice himself thus would do no good whatever. The spy would be free to go on with his terrible enterprise. The secret Danny alone knew, would die with him. It would be much wiser to retire, and seek for some other way of exit from the passage.
Sometimes action, with its element of excitement, with the invigorating spirit of sacrifice that accompanies it, is much easier than a safer, wiser course. It was hard for Danny to turn his back on this dangerous enemy of his country, to leave him unmolested at his eavesdropping, and to creep back along half a mile of passage. Yet, to seek for every possible chance of getting out and making known the facts to the military was his clear duty. He had not yet explored the vault; there might possibly be a way of escape through this.
Pushing the heavy stone of the secret entrance to the vault, Danny crept once more into the mysterious place, holding aloft his lantern. On every hand guns, rifles, cases of ammunition surrounded him. All was so silent and horrible, and yet so sinister and alive. Suddenly he started, a gasp of horror rising in his throat.
There, in the yellow light of his candle, he saw a prostrate figure, lying motionless, upon what looked like a low, stone bench. It was clothed in a long, crimson robe; gold glittered here and there upon it. Drawing nearer, and struggling with his fear, he saw, to his relief, that it was but an image—a carving of some saintly bishop long dead, his white hands folded peacefully upon his breast, his mitre on his head.
This, then, was the crypt of the Abbey Church. Danny drew near, and looked reverently at the carving of the peaceful holy old face. Here, too, lay a prince, in blue and ermine and a crown. There, behind a pillar, was the effigy of a white-robed father—a pile of rifles had been propped against his tomb. Further on was a little chapel, the altar still standing.
Somehow it all comforted Danny, making him feel less alone, giving him a sense of unseen protection. Filled with a new courage and confidence he stepped forward.
How strange in this holy place to find a store of German weapons! Five hundred years it had laid hidden, to be discovered at last by the enemy and used as a storehouse of munitions of war. Quietly Danny began his search for a way out, and before long he was rewarded.
A wooden door, in the corner of the crypt, stood ajar. Passing through this, Danny found himself in a small room.