"I'm afraid it's rather a long way," he said, as they turned the first corner. "Perhaps the Earl might care to take a short rest?" "Your audience is gone, Purceville. This is between you and me. I may not be as young as you; but by God I'd walk to the ends of the earth tonight!" "Of course." And after a time. "One last corridor." When they reached the massive Tower door, Ballard drew out his ring of keys. Inserting the largest, he turned it roughly in the lock, then pushed in on the heavy oak barrier with a groan of iron hinges. A dark opening awaited them. The company stepped inside, and were enfolded in echoes. To their right, illumined by a single, recessed lamp, stood the beginnings of an ancient stairway, cold stone that spiralled out of sight. Ballard relocked the door behind them, then took up a torch, and lighted it at the lamp. "Perhaps you should reconsider, Earl? I'm afraid the ladies in question reside on the uppermost story." Arthur ground his teeth in impotent wrath. He had eaten and drunk obstinately at the meal, as if to prove himself. He had taken the bait, and dug the hook deep into his flesh. And though now a part of him smelled the trap, his pride would not let him back down. For the strong wine had gone to his head, and he believed himself more than he was. "I shall go wherever you lead," he said hotly, unable to control himself. "To bury you, I would descend into Hell itself." "Very well, Secretary. My second will lead the way with the torch. Watch your step, and be sure to tell us if you begin to flag along the way." Ballard suppressed a grin of pleasure, and began to climb. The others followed. The aristocrat's hard resolve could not last. Soon he moved as if in chains, every step a punishment. This man who had begun life so high, gliding easily and arrogantly down the gentle incline, now found himself struggling bitterly just to reach the level ground of final judgment. Halfway up it was clear that he should go no further. His breath came in tight gasps, as almost unconsciously he clutched at the growing pain in his left arm and shoulder. Becoming alarmed, his orderly called a halt, and approached his failing master. "Your Lordship must rest," he whispered emphatically. But the others looked down in sneering silence. As soon as he regained his breath the old man pushed him off, and said harshly. "We go on." "But surely," said Purceville, in his best native tongue. "'Tis no trouble to stop." "We move !" The procession continued, always upward. Ten steps from the top, Arthur collapsed. Rushing toward him with a look of sudden concern, the Lord Purceville lifted his shriveled form, and carried it like an injured child up to the broad final landing.