“Follow!” he commanded, taking up the torch.
Together we descended a short flight of roughly-hewn steps into a small, dark, damp-smelling cavern below. As he lifted the torch above his head, I saw that the place was occupied.
I shuddered and drew back in horror.
Upon a heap of dirty, mouldy straw, lay a woman. Her dress was ragged and faded, but she was very beautiful, with light golden hair, and a face that betokened culture and refinement. Around her neck was a curious band of a blood-red colour. Upon her countenance was a ghastly pallor, the lips were bloodless, the jaw had dropped, the eyes were fixed and had a stony, horror-stricken look in them, for she was a corpse!
“You are satisfied that we are brigands?” he asked. “Good! Now I will show you that we are contrabandists.”
Ascending the steps, we went to another part of the great cave, where he showed me kegs of cognac and wine, boxes of cigars, silks, and an assortment of dutiable merchandise.
When we returned to where the other men were sitting, one of them, the elder of the party, who spoke with authority, addressed me.
“Well,” he said, “you have seen our stronghold, and recognise the impossibility of any one escaping from here, eh?”
“Yes,” I replied; “but I cannot conceive why I have been allured here. I am a poor man, and not worth robbing.”
“That is not our intention, signore,” the contrabandist answered, with mock politeness, as he puffed a cloud of smoke from his rank cigar. “True, you have been entrapped, but if you consent to perform for us a small secret service, you are at liberty to depart; and, moreover, our good Giovanni will complete his contract, and see you safely to Lanslebourg.”