Chapter XI: In the Secret Crypt

Having discovered so much, our hero could not be content to leave the place without knowing something more. He did not expect that he could explore to any great extent without the aid of artificial light; but he could see the manner of place it was immediately below him, and he might be able to determine something of its depth and general character.

Of course there was a way or means of closing and opening the trap from below; but he did not care then to stop for the investigation of that part of the problem.

So he went out and took a survey around to make sure that no one else was in sight, then returned and made ready for the descent into the unknown regions.

He had no weapon save his battered leopard wood staff; but that had served him once, and it might serve him again should the need present itself.

He took one more look around, then put his foot upon the ladder and began the descent. The distance was not far, perhaps twelve to fourteen feet, at the end of which he alighted upon a bottom of rock and quite rough.

As nearly as could be judged with the aid of the light he had, he concluded the crypt to be mostly the work of nature. Evidently the old monks or whoever had built the chapel, had found the cavern beneath and had thus utilized it.

It was irregular in form, its greatest width at the point where he now stood being nine full paces, not far from twenty-seven feet.

As soon as he had become more used to the gloom he moved on ahead, very soon making a new discovery, and one of importance.

At the point where he had landed from the ladder the cavern had been entirely bare, the only things to attract his attention, besides the jagged walls, being the somewhat complicated and bulky machinery by which the altar was moved to and fro; but he had not advanced many steps into the place before he came in contact with things that opened his eyes and sharpened his understanding.

Piled against the walls on either hand were barrels and casks and boxes, some of which appeared to have been there a long time, while others were evidently of more recent deposit. A little further on the cave narrowed, and was buried in darkness, but he believed there was a widening again further on. In this narrower part were a few boxes, and a lot of ship’s rigging--ropes, blocks, and old sails.

Ah! Another thing struck the explorer; and it struck him forcibly. It was a strong draught of air fresh from the sea! He was too well used to the atmosphere of the sea to mistake it when it came full in his face, and filled his nostrils and his lungs.

And now he could understand. In the slope of the crag towards the shore of the bay were several caves, two of which were of considerable size.

One of these latter--he thought he knew which one it was--had a secret opening into a passage leading to the place where he now stood; and the smugglers had discovered it and were making use of it.

Many things which had heretofore puzzled him were clear to him now. His father, he was confident, had known nothing of this cavern.

During his father’s lifetime he had known how all the goods landed at the Cove were disposed of; but it had not been so since his death.

Of late--within the three years last past--there had to his certain knowledge been many things brought in that had never been taken further inland, to be disposed of among the people there residing.

One occasion, in particular, he called to mind. It happened a year previously. He had gone on board the brig one evening, and had seen a number of boxes brought up from the hold and deposited on deck.

On the following morning he had been called on board again, when he found the boxes gone; yet he knew that no team had left the landing, and that no boat had gone up the river.

But it was all clear now. The goods had been landed at night at the foot of the crag, and taken up to the cave. When the secret had been first discovered by the smugglers he could not imagine; nor could he tell by whom, though he strongly suspected that Ralph Tryon had been the first to make use of it as a depository of contraband, and, perhaps, for pirated goods.

Having discovered so much, and having further determined that the space ahead was wrapped in total darkness, Percy concluded to leave further explorations to another and more favorable opportunity.

Furthermore, he determined that he would acquaint the earl with the discovery he had made and leave future proceedings to his direction. It would be proper so to do, and it would be right.

Thus thinking he turned about and started to retrace his steps. He had gone but a short distance on his return when his eye caught an object he had not before seen. The fact was, his eyes had become used to the dim light, and he saw things more distinctly.

Standing on the stone bottom, just under the head of one of the casks--a cask that had been set up on two small boxes--he espied a drinking cup.

He stooped and picked it up and made sure it was of silver and heavy at that. He further observed that in the head of the cask, close to the lower chine, was a wooden faucet.

The fancy possessed him to see what the cask contained; so, stooping down, he gave the tap of the faucet a turn, and speedily a liquid trickled out. He gave another turn and held the cup under it.

The first drawn he used to rinse the drinking-vessel with, and with it filled a second time he arose and stepped to where he had more light.

The liquid, as the fumes had told him, was wine, and there could be no mistaking its character or quality. It was old port, very strong, yet smooth as oil. It must have been old when first deposited in its present place of rest, and now the taster decided it to be the finest wine of the kind he had ever put to his lips.

Being well assured that no harmful ingredient could have found its way into the cask, he drank the potion and felt the better for it, but he wanted no more. Much wine of that quality would give to his head a buzzing not at all desirable.

Up the ladder, once more on the pavement of the chapel, our hero looked around. Everything was as he had left it. And now to move the altar back to its original place. With his hands on the upper edge, as before, he put forth his strength, this time at once and quickly. He heard the sharp click, as before, and immediately the ponderous mass swung back against the wall, with not a sign left to tell that a strange hand had been tampering with the mystery of the old chapel.

One mystery had been solved; but, in some respects, a greater yet remained in the dark. He had discovered how the seeming monk had made his exit from the chapel, but he had not discovered the meaning of the face that monk had worn. He knew not how many times he had recalled the scene, how many moments he had spent in thinking of it; he only knew that the more he reflected the more sure he became that his eyes had not played him false.

Beneath that gray cowl he had as surely seen a face like his father’s as he was sure that he had seen the figure at all. But he had seen it in profile. Perhaps could he see that same face in full front view it might appear different to him.

Yet, it was marvelous; and he could not think of it without wonder. He could only hope that the time might come when he could look upon the gray friar under other circumstances.

If he was one of the smugglers, or was engaged in their business on shore, he might yet be trapped. Who should say?

Upon leaving the chapel our adventurer took his way at once towards the castle, being resolved that the earl should be made acquainted with his discovery in the outset. He had no fear of Lord Oakleigh. It would not be over and above pleasant to meet him; yet he would not go out of his way, or, at least, he would not discommode himself to avoid him. How his lordship would account for his lame hand he could not guess; but he doubted very much the telling of the truth.

He thought he might at some time relate the incident to Cordelia; but under no circumstances would he tell the story to the earl, unless he should be asked; and he did not think that likely, as he had no idea that the grandson would let out the secret of his ruffianism.

Arrived at the castle, the first person whom he met was the very one whom he was most eager to see--the old steward, Michael Dillon.

“Michael, I have had nothing to eat since early morning, and I have had a long hard walk.”

“Bless my soul! And bless you, too, Master Percy! You couldn’t have come at a more fortunate time. When the old lord is alone with no company, he likes his dinner early; and we’re just after carrying it in. So come along to my room and eat with me--unless you prefer to try the upper table.”

“What! with the earl?”

“To be sure.”

“Mercy, no! What should put such an idea into your head?”

“Why, it wouldn’t be the first time, not by a number; and, besides, I have a fancy that the old lord rather likes it.”

“But never when Lord Oakleigh is at the castle.”

“Oho, he isn’t here! Thank fortune he’s gone.”

“Gone! Are you sure?”

“Aye, that I am--bag and baggage--he and his rascally valet with him.”

“When did he go and how?”

“He came home at noon with his arm in a sling. He said a horse had kicked him and hurt him sorely, and he had his things packed up and a trap to take him over to Burton, where I believe he said he was going to spend the night with a friend. He is off for Oxford to-morrow.”

“Was the earl very sorry to have him go?”

“I should say not. He makes the good old man very unhappy when he is here; and yet I sometimes think he hates to see him going, being so sure that he’s going to new mischief. Ah, he’s a bad lot! I’m sure I don’t know who he takes after. His father was one of the finest gentlemen I ever knew, and handsome as well; and his mother was a born angel. There couldn’t be a sweeter, purer, or a nobler woman than she was, though she was a bit proud. When I tell you that she was just as beautiful as is Lady Cordelia, and just as good, you’ll understand what I mean. Who in the world there ever was in the old earl’s family, on either side, like him, I’m sure I don’t know. It’s one o’ them marvels, Master Percy, that you’ve got to take as they come, and make the best of ’em.”

They went in to dinner; and our hero made a hearty meal and enjoyed it. The conversation of the steward was entertaining and interesting.

He had been in the earl’s employ, boy and man, more than half a century, having been born on the estate little more than three score years before.

“By the way,” the old man said towards the close of the meal, “it’s curious that we’ve never seen anything of the new captain of the smugglers at the castle. Your father, my boy, used to come up quite often; and a few of us were glad enough to purchase a few creature comforts that he had to dispose of. Of course, the earl never traded with him; but, for all that, more than one bottle of wine from his cargo, and more than one chest of tea, found their way into his lordship’s larder and upon his table. From what I hear, I should judge the new captain--Tryon--to be rather a poor sort of a stick.”

“Then you never saw him?”

“Not that I know of.”

“He is a bad man, Michael--a man that I keep clear of.”

“Yes, I’ve heard so. They don’t speak well of him anywhere. Even the old landlord of the Allerdale Arms don’t like him; and when Martin Vanyard turns against a smuggler you may be sure there’s a reason for it.”

“I was not aware, before,” said Percy, “that Captain Tryon had never shown himself at the castle. However, he doesn’t appear to spend much of his time in this section any way. As soon as his vessel gets in he is sure to be off. Where he goes I do not know; and, to tell the truth, I care less. There is something about the man that puzzles me, and for that I would like to gain a more intimate acquaintance. I would like to follow him on one of his journeys and see what he does with himself--where he goes, and in what guise he appears when there.”

“Eh! D’ye fancy he’s playin’ a kind of hide and seek?--that he’s got another character?”

“Yes. I am sure of it, and I intend to unmask him one of these days. In fact, the time may not be far distant.”

“Well, if he’s as big a rascal as I’ve heard it whispered, I hope he may be nabbed very soon.”

“Ah!” exclaimed the youth, with a slight start, and a curious look into the old man’s face, “what sort of whispers have you heard, Michael?”

The steward hesitated. After gazing for a time into his glass, and taking a swallow of wine, he said:

“Really, Percy, I don’t know as I ought to speak; but then it’s no secret, and it’s whispered pretty loudly, too. They say--I’ve heard old Martin at the inn say--that there was more carried on by the new captain of the Staghound than smuggling. I s’pose you know what that means?”

“Yes. I know. Has it come to the earl’s ears?”

“I’m not sure; but I think it has. Mebbe, Percy, you know about it.”

“Michael, whatever I may know with regard to a change in the character of the brig has come to my knowledge within eight-and-forty hours. I shall myself speak with the earl on this subject; so you and I will discuss it no more.”

“But you’ll tell me some time, my boy?”

“Yes; you shall know all about it, just as soon as there is something tangible discovered.”

Shortly after this the meal came to an end, and the young man made his way to one of the smaller drawing-rooms, where Cordelia was in the habit of sitting, and where he had given her his instruction while acting in the capacity of private tutor.

He found the lady there, and with her was the old earl. She arose instantly on his entrance, and approached him with her hand outstretched.

She smiled, as she always smiled on meeting him; but to him there was a new flush on her lovely face; a new warmth in her greeting, and a new light in her radiant eyes.

“Percy, I am glad you have come. You can tell dear grandpa all about what we saw in the old chapel last night.”

“My lord,” said the visitor, turning to the earl, after he had responded to Cordelia’s greeting, “I have come on purpose to speak with you. I think I have something to tell that will interest you.”

Now Lord Allerdale had made up his mind--had firmly resolved--that the next time he should meet with young Maitland he would treat him respectfully, and not unkindly; but he would make him feel that he must know his place and keep it.

He would never unbend to him again--never again give his hand as a friend. It would not answer.

And this was the next meeting. The old man had arisen when his grandchild spoke, and as he turned and rested his gaze upon the handsome face, and ran his eyes over the fine, manly form, and met the warm, generous smile, and heard the rich, frank, truthful voice, his poor resolutions vanished into forgetfulness, and the old love and admiration, together with the old trust and confidence, came back to him.

He put forth his hand without knowing it--put it forth as it had been his wont to do, and smiled benignantly, almost paternally, as he said in a frank, genial tone and manner so natural to him:

“Percy, I am glad to see you. Sit right down here, and let’s have your wonderful story. If you can hold your own with Cordelia I shall give you full credit.”

“I will not presume, my lord,” said the young man, “to tell over again anything that your granddaughter may have told you; for I know she must have done full justice to her subject. I suppose,” turning to the lady, “you have told all about what we saw in the old chapel?”

“Yes. I’ve told everything I could think of; but you might remember things that I have forgotten.”

“No fear of that, dear lady. But listen: I have been to the chapel to-day.”

“What! And never told me?”

“Hush, darling!” interposed the old nobleman, as the girl broke in. “Let the young man speak. I can see by his look that he has something of importance to tell us.”

“I have indeed, my lord.” And thereupon, clearly and concisely, and with real dramatic elegance and force, he went on and told the story of his wonderful discovery of a few hours before.

He told how he had reached the chapel, and how he had pondered and studied, and how he had finally discovered the secret of moving the ponderous block of stone forming the altar.

And then he told of the crypt beneath, of what he had found in it, and how he had determined that the secret vault was connected with one or more of the caves on the long slope of the Witch’s Crag, towards the bay.

Cordelia had contained herself with difficulty during the recital, and at its conclusion she was eager to burst forth in her impulsive way.

She was greatly disappointed that he should have gone without her; but a look which he bent upon her after he had closed, together with several glances which he had given her while he had been speaking, told her why he had not come to her. She understood and was content. Be sure, however, she was determined that the next visit would not be made without her.

The earl had listened patiently, but eagerly, to the end. Not a word escaped him, nor an intonation.

“My dear boy,” he exclaimed, warmly and gratefully, “you do not know what a favor you have done me. The whole thing is now plain to me and my duty clear. Of course, I may depend upon your assistance.”

“You may, my lord, depend upon me for everything within my power to do.”

“What put it into your head to think of that particular way of moving the altar?”

The young man explained by pointing to a square-topped table that stood near. He told how he had found the end where the huge stone was clear of the pavement, while at the other end it rested on it; and how that had led him to make the trials which had proved successful.

“And to think that all these years I have searched in vain! Well, the credit is yours, my boy; and I am glad you have found it. If I am not mistaken, we have an important work before us.” At this point the earl bent his head upon his hand, and remained for a considerable time buried in a profound meditation.

“Grandpa!” called his fair ward, becoming restless and impatient in the dead silence, “what are you thinking about?”

He started quickly and raised his head. Twice he passed his hand to and fro across his eyes, and finally, with a look of deep anxiety on his frank, honest face, he spoke.

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