"I don't wish to think," he replied. "But I'm certain that, to this very day, there lie hidden away in some of our old country houses the ghastliest secrets of mediæval times, the fruit of crimes and passions, of which, happily, even the names have perished." "What's that?" said the young officer, laying his hand on his companion's arm, and in the silence both distinctly heard the click of a latch, and facing round at the same moment, confronted the white face of Colonel Darcy, framed in the hall door. In an instant he was at their side, drawing a quick hissing breath and exclaiming:-- "It's open. Where's my letter?" "There is no letter," said Kingsland gruffly. "But you gave us a jolly good start, creeping in. This ghost business sets one's nerves all on edge." "Who opened the door?" "I did," said Mr. Riddle, coming up just at that moment. "Ah! Then you have my letter." "No, I haven't seen a trace of it. It may be up aloft." "I believe there's some living object up aloft," said Kingsland. "If you take my advice, you'll shut the door, and leave it and the letter in perpetual seclusion." "I don't care whether it's a man or a devil!" cried Darcy, who, whatever else may be said of him, did not know the meaning of fear. And as he spoke, he set one foot upon the lower step. "Hold on!" cried Kent-Lauriston. "There's something up there, and, what's more, it's coming down." And as he spoke, a sound was heard in the long closed chamber, and as the listeners held their breath, something slowly approached the steel curtain, which swung out noiselessly as if waving in a ghostly wind. CHAPTER XXXIV WITHIN THE TOWER Stanley's first thought as he hung suspended over the gulf, when the plate had so treacherously revolved, was of self-preservation. And, indeed, he had need to think, for it seemed highly probable that within the next few minutes he might be dashed to pieces on the floor of the secret chamber, forty feet below. To pull himself up over that slippery stone was, he found, a sheer impossibility. To let go of his precarious hold and drop to the bottom of the well was certain death. Yet the sharp edges of the plate were already cutting into his hands, and it could only be a matter of a few moments when his arms would refuse to support any longer the weight of his body. Evidently he must find some means of escape from these two alternatives, and that right speedily, or for him the end of all things would be at hand. Below him the wall stretched smooth as glass. No vine grew upon it to which he might cling, no crevice in which he might put his foot. He cast his eye round in a wild search for some possible means of salvation, and, as he did so, he saw one infinitesimal chance of escape. So slight was it, that no one, in less desperate straits, would have dared to take the risk, but he had no choice.