Again they called, and again Danny answered. This time his voice came from below their feet.
“He’s in the dungeons!” said Nipper, dwelling on the word with delicious horror. “I expect he’s chained up among the skeletons of the men what’s been starved to death—like that guide told us at the Castle. It’s a good thing there aren’t any bloodhounds nowadays.”
But try as they would, the Cubs could not force open a single one of the heavy doors that seemed as if they might lead down to the cellar.
“Come round to the window,” called Danny. “If you could give me a rope, and break the bars, I could climb up and get out.”
The Cubs ran out again into the garden. Before long they had espied what must be the grating of the dungeon—a small, barred window. But, alas! it was in the wall which went down into the moat. Calling out once more, they found Danny’s voice certainly came from this window. What should they do?
Then the puzzle was suddenly solved, for, moored to a stump they discovered an old and rotten punt. It was half-full of water, but this did not matter. Getting in, they pushed off from the bank with two long sticks, and punted themselves across.
“Here we are!” they said, as they reached the barred window.
“Thank God!” came Danny’s voice. “I knew He wouldn’t let me die here!”
“What shall we do?” said Nipper.
“Let down a rope; about five foot would do,” said Danny.