Setting his foot on the lower staple he hoisted himself up, pulled aside the ivy above his head, and found, as by this time he expected, still another staple. Without more ado he began to climb, nimbly, eagerly, until he had to stop, for he had come almost to the top of the ivy, and there were no more staples! What was to be done now? True, there were no more staples, but three feet above the last was the lowest of the holes that had attracted his attention. He was able to examine it. A circular hole, seemingly drilled with some care; he put his finger in, but could not touch the end of it. And it appeared to be bored at a downward angle with the face of the wall. He felt that he must find out how long it was, though for the moment he did not see what good the information would be to him. Descending quickly, he found a long twig, and climbing up again, he inserted it into the hole. About a foot of the twig went into the wall. "The hole is made to receive a movable step, or I’m a Dutchman," he said to himself. "It’s long enough, and it’s bored downward to prevent the step from slipping out. A mighty clever notion! The holes must have cost a deal of work, for the fellow who bored them must have been pretty awkwardly placed. I wonder if they were made by old Congleton, or after his time. Now what I want to know is, where are those steps?" Once more he descended. The steps, wherever they were, were probably made of iron, and there must be about a dozen of them. Where were they? Were they carried backwards and forwards between the tower and the house of the person who used them? That seemed hardly likely. It was much more probable that they were hidden somewhere near at hand. Jack hunted about the neighboring thickets. He might easily have overlooked small objects when searching for the ladder. But after what seemed a long time he still found no trace of them. Determined not to give up his quest, he was wondering how best he could make steps for himself when he caught sight of the summer-house, about two hundred yards away, where he had found the wounded lace-peddler. "That’s the place to rummage!" he thought. He hastened to the summer-house. There were two rooms. Part of the roof had fallen in over one of them, and, encouraged by the marks of muddy boots about the doorway, Jack decided to search there first. The room was bare; he turned over the debris on the floor; nothing rewarded his efforts. But there was the chimney, a wide square recess in the wall; he would try that. He almost shouted for joy when, far back in the opening, he came upon the object of his quest—a pile of rusty iron implements that seemed exactly suited for the purpose. They were stout rods about a foot long, with a loop at the end that might serve either as a hand-grip or a step. And the loop was at just such an angle with the rod as would correspond with the apertures in the walls.