I lit my lantern and turned to examine the entrances. One was quite obvious: a narrow slip of a door, opening, it seemed, into the side of the chimney. I guessed at once that this led down to the old oak wardrobe in the great bedroom below. I knew now where that apparition had come from and vanished to, and my first thought was to descend and investigate. But it occurred to me that there must be another entrance opening into the passage of the skeleton, as I thought of it. But there was nothing to show which panel hid the secret. Indeed I should probably have been searching for an hour or more if I hadn't noticed the marks of feet on the dusty floor disappearing into the wall; and tugging at the panel there it came open in my hands. If I had tapped for it I shouldn't have found it, for it was too solid to sound hollow to the knuckles. I was growing more and more excited with my discoveries, but through my excitement I felt apprehensive, for it was clear that some one had been in the chamber very recently, and might come back again. If so I should be trapped like a rat in a drain, with no way to turn. Still, I decided to examine the passage first, and holding out my lantern before me ventured into the dark, trying to remember by the plan Worthing had drawn up what turns and stairways to expect. But there was little need for this; for, though the passage twisted and climbed and descended, there was no chance of losing the way, for there was only one way to take. I pressed on step by step with the utmost caution, gazing intently into the darkness ahead, and testing every step before I moved forward; and so intent was I on the process that I didn't notice what was on either hand till I suddenly became aware of a figure in a niche beside me standing very still. I turned quickly, and stifled a faint cry. For there was the skeleton; and at its feet lay my candle. I held up my lantern and examined the dismal thing. There were chains about its wrists and chest and feet, fixing it to the wall. It hadn't lost its way then and perished in the darkness, but had been imprisoned there by an enemy and left to die slowly and alone. I had enough imagination to picture the terrible deed: the mockery of the triumphant foe as the chains clanked into the staples; the cries of the victim, the frantic curses and appeals; the dying away of the footsteps, and the closing of the door; the terrible secrecy of the darkness, with death creeping out of the shadow by lingering degrees; the screams of growing madness, the sobs weakening into moans, the frenzied struggling at the bonds, the prayers, the mutterings, the hours of dumb silence.... I stood there fascinated by the horrid details of that slow agony, realizing more vividly than before something of the meaning of the crime of the Mad Captain in my father's story. Little wonder, it seemed to me, that with such a picture in his mind of not one only but many of his comrades