The Smuggler of King's Cove; or, The Old Chapel Mystery

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.

“Maitland,” said the earl, with a look upon the youth full of confidence and esteem, “the time has come when I must speak frankly with you; and I shall trust that you will be equally frank with me.”

“Lord Allerdale,” Percy returned, with a depth of feeling that imparted a perceptible tremor to his voice and to his frame, “say to me what you will—ask me what you will—and I will reply to you as I can. I will answer everything within my power to answer; and if I offer a suggestion or a remark of any kind it shall be frankly and truthfully done.”

“I believe you, my boy. I will not hesitate to say I have perfect confidence in you.” He paused a few seconds, and then went on:

“You have no doubt, I suppose, that the cavern which you so wonderfully discovered is, at the present time, used by the crew of the smuggler brig, the Staghound?”

“I am confident that such is the case, my lord.”

“Percy, I am now going to ask you a question which you will answer as you think proper. What is your candid opinion of the present character of the crew of that vessel?”

“I would divide the crew into two classes, my lord,” answered the youth, promptly, and with a bold frank look into the old man’s earnest eyes. “There are men of that crew who are good and true—men who are outlawed, I know, but who have much excuse for the course of life into which they have been led. Another part of the crew, including the chief, I believe to be about as bad—as wicked—as it is possible for men to be.”

“Do you think, my boy,” the earl pursued, greatly excited, “that they—the bad men—are—have been guilty of piracy on board that brig?”

“My lord, had you asked me that question two days ago, I could not have answered it as I can answer it now. To accommodate old friends—to save from possible disaster those who had been kind to me, and loving, in my boyhood, in the absence of the chief, I went out and piloted the brig in. While on board I saw that which surprised me; and I questioned one whom I knew I could trust.

“I will not speak his name. I will only say of him further, he and a score and more with him have resolved that the piratical brig shall know them no more. By no consent of theirs, but against their earnest protest, the iniquitous work has been carried on.

“Yes, my lord—those bad men, with the chief at their head, have been guilty of piracy. The brig is even now fresh from a piratical venture. A portion of her cargo may have been honestly purchased, to be dishonestly disposed of in England; but I verily believe the bulk of the property she has on board was robbed from other vessels.”

“And the brig is at this moment in the cove?”

“Yes.”

“Have you any idea of what they are doing with the cargo?”

“I do not think any of it has yet been moved. They are waiting for the return of their chief, who is at present away.”

“Percy, who is this chief?”

“Have you seen him, my lord?”

“He was pointed out to me once at the village. I can only remember that he reminded me of a big brown bear, though more of the color of a lion.”

“Lord Allerdale, I can tell you nothing of the man that would inform you. He is an enigma to me. I only hope we may have the opportunity for a closer acquaintance ere long. I know him to be a villain; if there is any good in his composition, it is unknown to me.”

The earl regarded his youthful companion for a time in silence, seeming the while to be debating with himself. At length, with the passing of a cloud from his brow, he said:

“Maitland, we must engage in this matter with a thorough understanding of each other, and, should you lend me your aid, I should naturally depend upon you to take the lead. You know the ground; I do not. You also know the persons, while scarcely one of them is known to me; in fact, I may say not one, for were Tryon to appear in a garb different from that in which I saw him I should not recognize him from an utter stranger.”

“Well, my lord,” said the youth having waited a time for the other to proceed, “I think you had more in your mind that you wished to say.”

Allerdale started and changed color.

“Yes,” he replied, “I will tell you. As I have just remarked, if you engage in this work, I shall have to depend upon you; and, even though I should have the assistance of the king’s officers, I should still expect you to lead. And now, my young friend, I don’t want you to place yourself in an unpleasant position for me. If you would prefer not to openly raise your hand against these men, I will certainly excuse you.”

Our hero saw the drift of the old man’s thoughts, and he was grateful, though there was a touch of disappointment that he had not been weighed more correctly.

Still, judging by the past—by his parentage, and the associates of his childhood, he could not deem it strange that his lordship should have held a lingering thought that he might feel a grain of sympathy even now for the crew of the vessel which his father had so long commanded, and many of whom had been his warm and loving friends.

But he—the earl—did not quite understand. Percy answered, frankly and kindly, and with truth in every word:

“Lord Allerdale, I thank you for your kind consideration. I have to inform you, however, that you do not quite understand me. With regard to the sin of smuggling I will not speak, unless, indeed, I may be permitted to say that nothing in the world, not even starvation, would induce me to place myself in the position of an outlaw.

“But there are a certain number of the old crew of the brig—men who sailed with my father—who, as I have before remarked, would not, I am confident, commit what they believed to be a crime. In fact they can not, in the very nature of the case, of the facts surrounding them, look upon themselves as great criminals.

“They know that the great majority of the poor people are with them, and at heart uphold them. While they really harm no private individual living farther than the competition in trade may go, they have the feeling that thousands of honest people bless them.

“But, my lord, what shall I say of the man who goes upon the high seas, a pirate? There is something in the word, in the very thought, that strikes a horror to my soul; something that sets every fiber of feeling within me to crying out in vengeance against them. Wait one week.

“I do not think Captain Tryon will return before that time; and we must make no move until he is on the ground. Should we do so, he would be sure to take the alarm and escape us; and he can do it, be sure. I never knew a man—never heard of a man—who had such a capacity for secreting himself. Let him leave his vessel, with a few hours the start, and no mortal can find him anywhere. There are men on board the brig who declare that he vanishes into pure air. However, when he is once more on the spot—when I know that he has joined the brig—there is no doubt that we can capture him.”

“You think he will be back in a week?”

“Not far from that. I should say it will not be before that time; but if he should return sooner, I should know it, and will at once communicate with you.”

“Percy, I haven’t told you all. Word of this matter—of these pirates in my neighborhood—has come to the ears of the admiralty, and they have sent to me, not only for information, but they wish to know what I can do to help them. They remind me that I am senior justice in this county, and intimate pretty strongly that I am expected to lead in the work of capturing the culprits. They have sent one sloop of war to look after the pirate and will send more if necessary. Also, just as soon as I will inform them what I want and when I want it they will send a land force to operate with me. Now, my boy, what shall I do? What answer shall I return to the admiralty and what to the commissioners?”

“What do the commissioners say?”

“They expect me to call on my chief constable and his forces, and if more help is wanted they will send it.”

“How many men can your constable raise, and what sort of men are they?”

“Oh, he can raise all we can possibly want, and plenty of them are good and reliable.”

“Very well. And now, my lord, I will answer your question. Write to the admiralty that they need not send any more vessels of war after the pirate. He will, in all probability, never put to sea again. Write to the commissioner of police that you will not need their help. With regard to the constable of Headlandshire, let him be prepared; but be sure that he makes no open movement until further orders. If you will trust to my guidance, I think you will not be disappointed.”

“You will keep me informed—you will—”

“My lord,” said the young man as the earl hesitated, “you need be under no anxiety. I will keep my eyes open, and you shall know just what is to be done and when.”

The old nobleman was greatly relieved, more so, perhaps, than he would have acknowledged, and his thanks were warmly given.

A few more questions on the subject of the pirate chief, for such they did not hesitate to call him, were asked and answered, after which Cordelia, who had been an interested listener—particularly interested, because she saw her noble guardian deferring most respectfully to her dear lover—claimed to be heard. She was eager to know when they would visit the old chapel.

“If you refer it to me for decision,” said Percy, as he found his host’s gaze fixed inquiringly upon him, “I say the sooner the better. I wish there could have been time this afternoon, but to-morrow will answer. The goods that are now being removed from the brig are going back into the country. They are proper contraband articles, and were purchased in France and Spain and at the Azores, without the help, I believe, of Captain Tryon. The last of those goods will probably be out to-morrow, or on the day following, and after that they will be moving things into the cavern. So you understand why we need to be expeditious.”

“Suppose, then, we call it to-morrow morning?” suggested the earl.

And so it was arranged. Percy promised that he would be on hand at an early hour; and he suggested that not a word should be spoken on the subject to others.

“Only to Mary,” said our heroine, earnestly. “I will be responsible for her circumspection.”

“Certainly,” returned Percy. “You shall not go without your trusty attendant. But you will caution her in advance.”

The girl promised that she would exercise all possible caution, and shortly thereafter the young man took his leave.

The morning of the following day dawned clear and bright, and by the time the sun was two hours high the party was ready for the excursion to the old chapel.

By previous arrangement Percy had brought his old fowling-piece with him; and the earl likewise took one, thus giving to the inquiring servants the impression that they were going out simply for shooting.

Cordelia often accompanied her old guardian on his woodland rambles, gun or no gun; and more than once Percy Maitland had been called to go with them; so the arrangement of the party caused no surprise.

On referring to his watch, when they had reached their destination, the guide found it to be only a few minutes past eight o’clock. They were in good season, and he felt very confident that they had nothing to fear from other parties in the cavern.

Cordelia was in a flutter of excitement as they approached the altar. Percy first pointed out to them the peculiarities of the huge stone.

He found his wooden probe which he had fashioned on the previous day, and with the aid of that he very soon explained the various points, the discovery of which had led him to the grand discovery of all.

This done, he went to the right-hand end of the block, and laid his two strong hands fairly on its upper edge.

“Now, my lady,” he said, with a happy smile, “if you will keep your eyes open you will behold a wonderful thing.”

A weaker man than he could have set the rock in motion. He put forth his strength gradually, for the purpose of testing the matter, and he had exerted not more than a moiety of it when he felt the ponderous mass give, and heard the sharp click of the spring beneath.

A moment later the end of the stone where they stood began to move—to swing outward, away from the wall—and in a few seconds the aperture underneath was exposed to view.

Never mind the loud astonishment of the lady, nor the more quiet surprise of the maid. The earl himself was filled with wonderment, and did not hesitate to acknowledge it. The whole thing was a wonder, not only the finding of the subterranean chamber and the marvelous mechanism by which the altar was controlled, but the very existence of the place.

“Evidently,” he said, when Percy had asked him his opinion of the origin of the crypt, and its secret mode of entrance, “it was constructed by the monks a great many years ago. We have a record of a fraternity of Franciscans here, with a monastery somewhere near the site now occupied by the castle, probably on that self-same spot, as many of the foundation stones of the present structure show unmistakable signs of having been used before.

“For instance, there is a stone near the southeastern corner of the old keep, close down by the sward, which we know must once have served as the keystone of a strong, massive arch. And there are others near it, which came from the same arch. However, that has nothing to do with this chapel. My opinion is this: At the time when those old monks lived here there were frequent incursions on the coast from piratical hordes, and those pirates were in the habit of making churches and monkish establishments their especial game. We may suppose that the friars first found this cave; also its connection with other caves, at a distance, towards the sea. How natural that it should occur to them what a capital means of escape all this would be if they only had a way of entering the cave secretly—unseen by their enemies the pirates. And then, you see, as a natural sequence, came the chapel with its wonderfully constructed altar. Of course, it’s only supposition; but it will answer till we can find a better solution.”

“Which, I think,” said the young man frankly and honestly, “would be difficult to find. In fact, your solution appears not only plausible, and entirely reasonable, but, come to think the matter all over, I can find no room for any other. We may suppose, of course, that the machinery beneath for working the ponderous trap has been renewed. But anybody with mechanical skill might have done that.”

After that they prepared to go down. The earl and the guide had each a brace of good pistols, and each a sword. Also, they had brought with them two good lanterns which could be utterly darkened should occasion require. Percy produced flint and steel, by means of which he set on fire a piece of punk wood, then lighted a brimstone match, and very shortly the lanterns were alight.

The muskets and the basket of provisions they ventured to leave behind, on top of the altar, and presently Percy put his foot upon the ladder and went down. Cordelia followed next, then came the earl, with Mary Seymour bringing up the rear.

We can imagine the wonder of the girls and their various exclamations; but their interest was not greater than was that of the earl. And even the guide himself found more to interest him than he had found before.

He had light now to help him, and the whole scene was open to his view. He could now see that the cavern was entirely the work of nature. If the hand of man had done anything it had been only the breaking off of a few jagged points and projections from the walls, with an occasional leveling of the floor.

They went on a considerable distance beyond where the guide had gone on the previous day. He had stopped where the cave had narrowed down to a simple passage not more than four or five feet wide.

And here they felt the fresh air from the sea—quite a strong draught of it. This passage extended, perhaps, a distance of a hundred yards, at which point it widened into another chamber, very nearly as large as the first; and here were found more articles of merchandise—a considerable bulk of it—a portion of which was comparatively new.

This second chamber was, in its widest part, eight to nine yards across, by full thirty long; its roof near the center being very high—full fifty feet—as nearly as they could estimate.

At the far end it narrowed again to a passage not more than four feet wide, the sides rough and broken, with many places where it could be seen that serious impediments had been removed by the setting maul and chisel. And here it was found that the way began to descend very perceptibly.

“About where are we now?” the earl asked, as they reached the passage.

“We must be very nearly beneath the point where the abrupt portion of the crag—the proper Witch’s Head—terminates, and the more gradual slope begins. We have come a considerable distance. Will you go further?”

“Let us see where this narrow pass will lead us.”

They went on, Cordelia resting her hand in her lover’s warm grasp when she could; the way descending quite abruptly, for the distance of a hundred yards, or more, when they came to a point where the way widened again, and the floor became level; but it was not a proper chamber.

It continued thus, widening gradually, for the distance of ten yards, or thereabouts, when it came to a sudden termination against a seemingly solid wall.

Above, at the height of thirty or forty feet, there was a broad opening, through which the sea breeze came freely, but it was entirely beyond reach from where they stood, and, of course, could never be used as a pass by the smugglers.

At length, however, Percy discovered a small aperture through which he was able to look upon what lay beyond; and the moment he saw he knew where they were. Directly before them, only shut away by a partition wall, was a cave which he had visited hundreds of times. It was not far from half way down the foot-slope of the crag.

Of course there was somewhere—and they could probably find it if they tried—a means of passage through this wall; but would it pay to attempt to discover it at the present time?

“Will it pay to run the risk of detection?” was our hero’s chief thought.

And the earl thought, decidedly not. So, after a brief conference, they turned about and began to retrace their steps, well satisfied with the result of their exploration.

Happy was our hero on the way back, as he walked with his darling’s hand clasped in his own! And happy was Cordelia, trusting with all her heart in the strength and goodness of her dear lover!

Ah! little dreamed they of the darkness coming! Not a thought—not the faintest suspicion—came to them of the vengeful enemy that lurked in their path!