I lit up another pipe and listened intently.
“He took me,” resumed Ashton, “into a natural cave, a cleft in the rocks, and we went stumbling over the rocks and stones, and splashing into pools. At least I did. He seemed to get along all right. At the far end of this clammy cave, a very narrow staircase, cut out of solid rock, ascended abruptly about twenty or thirty steps, then turned a corner and descended again into a large passage. Then a mighty queer thing happened.”
“What might that be?” I enquired.
“Well, my guide somehow or other suddenly became possessed of a huge great candlestick with a lighted candle in it, about three feet high, which lit up the vaulted passage.
“‘We now stand in the monk’s sub-way,’ he said.
“‘Indeed, and who may you be? Are you a man or a ghost?’
“The queer figure turned. ‘I am human,’ he said, ‘do not fear me. I was a monk years ago, now I am reincarnate—time and space are nothing whatever to me. I only arrived a short while ago from Naples to meet you here.’”
“Good heavens, Ashton,” I said, “is this all true?”
“Absolutely true, my dear fellow,” said Ashton. “I was in my sound senses, not hypnotised or anything of that sort, I assure you. On and on we went, the little man with his big candle leading the way, and I following. Two or three times the sub-way narrowed, and we had a tight squeeze to get through, I can tell you.”