When she espied Niki on the divan, she switched off the flashlight. After satisfying herself, apparently by his heavy breathing, that he was asleep, she proceeded to open the secret panel. Its mechanism was familiar to her; she knew her way into the vaults below.
Immediately she had disappeared through the doorway in the wall, I went into action. Quietly but swiftly, I crept down the staircase. I stepped through the panel opening and stood at the head of the stone steps, where I watched her slow and careful descent of the winding stairs, in the shaky circle of light of her torch. I felt no trepidation over her safety; she was well acquainted with the geography of the place. My only fear was that the reporter might turn her adventurous visit to his own advantage. This seemed unlikely, for he had given me the impression that he was enough of a soldier of fortune to find amusement in his present predicament, despite his brutal treatment. This thought was uppermost in my mind when I heard his voice, raised in an exclamation of surprise.
I could well understand his note of surprise as he tried to connect the circumstances that had so recently and violently placed him in his present situation, with this after-midnight visit of a beautiful young lady in trailing white, lighting her way with an electric torch and jangling a bunch of keys.
"My dear young person, are you playing ghost—or what?" he addressed her, speaking through a small opening in his cell-door, through which, in its ancient pattern, food was passed to prisoners. "I am honored by your visit, of course, but isn't it a little—unconventional?"
"Lots of things are unconventional," was Pat's ready reply.
I could hear distinctly every word they said, owing to the peculiar acoustic properties of the cellar.
"Please don't tell me that you're bringing me a cup of tea!"
"I should adore some," said Pat.
"Adore some—what?"
"Some iced tea," she replied. "It's very hot and stuffy down here. You must be very uncomfortable."