“But I don’t think they’re getting up much except mud,” he said. “I ran most of the way back so as to give us as much time as possible.”

 

Antony nodded.

 

“Well, come along, then,” he said. “The sooner, the quicker.”

 

They stood in front of the row of sermons. Antony took down the Reverend Theodore Ussher’s famous volume, and felt for the spring. Bill pulled. The shelves swung open towards them.

 

“By Jove!” said Bill, “it is a narrow way.”

 

There was an opening about a yard square in front of them, which had something the look of a brick fireplace, a fireplace raised about two feet from the ground. But, save for one row of bricks in front, the floor of it was emptiness. Antony took a torch from his pocket and flashed it down into the blackness.

 

“Look,” he whispered to the eager Bill. “The steps begin down there. Six feet down.”

 

He flashed his torch up again. There was a handhold of iron, a sort of large iron staple¹, in the bricks in front of them.

 

“You swing off from there,” said Bill. “At least, I suppose you do. I wonder how Ruth Norris liked doing it.”

 

“Cayley helped her, I should think.... It’s funny.”

 

“Shall I go first?” asked Bill, obviously longing² to do so. Antony shook his head with a smile.

 

“I think I will, if you don’t mind very much, Bill. Just in case.”

 

“In case of what?”

 

“Well, in case.”

 

Bill, had to be content with that, but he was too much excited to wonder what Antony meant.

 

“Righto,” he said. “Go on.”

 

“Well, we’ll just make sure we can get back again, first. It really wouldn’t be fair on the Inspector³ if we got stuck down here for the rest of our lives. He’s got enough to do trying to find Mark, but if he has to find you and me as well—”

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