First lowering the lantern to the bottom to be sure that there is no foul air that may bring him death, Chester descends and finds a paved passageway scarce large enough for two men to pass abreast, with a vaulted arch of masonry overhead. Striding along this, though his heart beats faster, his nerves act steadily. Within two hundred feet from the bottom of the shaft he encounters the first iron doors. These are immensely strong, and would yield to nothing save explosion. Inspecting by the lantern’s light the instructions for the use of the successive keys, though Guy has already memorized them, he oils the first key with finest olive oil and inserts it. The locks have evidently been left in perfect order and secured against all damp and rust. The key turns readily. Then the second is tried; again the wards yield; next the third with equal success. Withdrawing this Chester discovers how beautiful is the mechanism of the Italian, for the two immense iron doors would swing on their hinges to an infant’s touch. So far the dying Paciotto has told him the truth. He goes on more confidently. The second pair of doors, from the surging of the waters that he hears faintly above him, he knows is under the moat itself. These yielding with equal readiness to the talisman he holds, disclose to Chester the apparatus the engineer had spoken of, and of which he holds the drawing in his hand, the one regulating the valves that will deluge him with the waters of the moat if Alva’s statue is destroyed. Following the directions on the paper, he disconnects these, shutting off connection with the moat, and to make things doubly sure wedges these valves in their places. Then he passes to the third doors. These are the ones that will open upon Alva’s treasure house. His heart, which has been regular in its beats until now, begins to thump in spasms as he uses the keys carefully—almost lingeringly, as if afraid to see what is within. Finally the wards yield three times, he presses the doors open, and holding his lantern in front of him would stride on, but suddenly stumbles, there is a clanking sound, and he falls groveling in the midst of bags of gingling coin. Then he holds the lantern up and gasps: “By heavens, what a miser’s sight,” and laughs, but very softly, as if he feared the twenty feet of solid rock and the great Bastion of the Duke that stands above it are as tissue paper and will let forth even his sighs. Recovering himself he makes rapid inspection of the treasure, sufficient to know that there are four or five millions right to his hand. Then he goes back and calling Corker to him, the seaman says: “Thing didn’t work?” “Yes, it’s all right. Bring the men with you.”