"Unkind fate for the château is kind fate for us," exclaimed Dunstan.
"I hope we shall not find ourselves in a waking nightmare," declared Chase. "I'm not so keen about going inside."
"Oh, pshaw!" broke in the aviator's son, impatiently.
He sprinted over to the window, and, reaching up, gripped hold of the sill. Strong and muscular, it was an easy task for the boy to draw himself up and climb astride it. Leaning forward, he peered eagerly inside the room. The window, like every other along that side of the building, admitted a shaft of moonlight, which, for a short distance, streaked weirdly across the floor. Don found himself staring at his own shadow, singularly clear-cut in the midst of the pale greenish-blue patch before him; then his glances wandered beyond. But all was shrouded in deep obscurity.
Without hesitation the boy eased himself down into the room, which he could tell was of immense and imposing dimensions.
"Come on, fellows," he called, "so in case I fall into the cellar you can pick me up."
Bringing forth a small flash-light from an inside pocket, Don turned on the brilliant rays just as the figure of Dunstan loomed up in the window.
"This is an adventure that appeals to my imagination," remarked the art student, cheerfully, as he clambered down and joined his companion.
A moment later Chase stood beside them.
Don Hale sent the beam of light flashing all around them, and as its rays revealed the richness of the interior all three ambulanciers gave voice to emphatic expressions of admiration.