“Ah!” he exclaimed, satisfied. “They was pretty cute in those days. Now, I’ll tell you, there _is_ something peculiar, and not more’n thirty or forty feet down; but you’d never guess it from here, would you? If you doubt me, go and satisfy yourselves. I don’t ask you to, mind you. I say only as I’ve been the journey myself this morning, and more than once; and if that’s enough for you, you can take my word on it.” I came away instantly from the post. “I’m going down,” I said. “No!” exclaimed Mr Shapter violently. “Yes,” I insisted. “He’ll do all right, sir,” said the detective, after a moment’s survey of me. “I should be glad, as a matter of fact, of the corroborative testimony, and there’s no more danger in it than in a fire escape, if he keeps his hold and his nerve.” “I am going down,” I repeated. “What shall I do, Jannaway?” “Nothing more, sir, than sit on the bucket edge, with your legs inside, and hold on to the chain. When you come to it, shout, and I’ll stop.” I did as he bid me. He went to the windlass handle, and without a moment’s hesitation began to turn. Instantly the bucket containing me swung free, and, after a little sluggish oscillation, descended slow and smooth, dropping into the bowels of the earth. It was a curious rather awful sensation, going down so into that smooth-walled shaft, with its deep-sunk eye watching for the breaking of the thread which was to precipitate me to an unthinkable death. I could not find the nerve, after one glance, to look down again. But, on the other hand, the brightness of my descent both surprised and comforted me. I had peered from above into a pit of gloom, rather appalling and fathomless to the eye; now, descending into it, under its open circular skylight all was as clear as day, so that I could see the shadows under the projecting bricks, and the little hartstongues in the crevices of mortar a vivid green. I must have dropped already some thirty or more feet, when I saw a curious hooded bulge, so slight as to be imperceptible from above, swell from the curve of the wall; and immediately afterwards the wall itself appeared to gape beneath it like a yawning mouth. I shouted in another moment, and the bucket stopped. Right opposite me, gouged out of the wellside, was a deep niche like an oriel, forming a sort of grotto or retreat. It was quite roomy, and lined and floored with brick; and a stone ledge in it formed a seat. At the entrance an iron stanchion was let into the wall, so that one, setting the bucket gently swinging, might easily grasp that hold and land himself in the cave. A man might lie hid there indefinitely, with the aid of a confederate above, and not a soul guess the secret of his disappearance. It was as cunning a cover, I am convinced, as persecution had ever inspired.