Maurice went cautiously. When he reached the bottom of the steps he saw before him a long passage, stone-flagged, low-roofed, narrow. From an iron hook at the far end hung a lamp. Beyond it stood a sentry, one of Captain Twinely’s yeomen. The man was awake and alert. There was no sign of drunkenness about him. He was well armed. The light from the lamp was dim and feeble at Maurice’s end of the passage, but it shone brightly enough for a space in front of the sentry. Maurice saw that it would be impossible to approach the man unseen, impossible to steal on him or rush at him without having a shot fired which would startle every one in the inn. He crept up the stairs again. The girl was waiting for him. “Is the door of the cellar locked?” he asked. “Ay, it is, I fetched the last bottles of wine out mysel’, and I saw them put the man in--sore draggled he was, and looking like a body in a dwam. The master locked the door himsef, and the captain took the keys off with him. But there’s no harm in that. There’s another key that the mistress used to have afore she died, the creature. It’s in a drawer in the master’s room, but it’s easy got at.” “Get it for me,” said Maurice. He looked into the public room again. The revel was far advanced now. It was nearly midnight, and only three or four of the most seasoned drinkers survived. Even they, as Maurice saw, were in no position to assert themselves, or to understand anything that was going on. A few minutes later even these veterans felt that they had had enough. Supporting each other, reeling against tables and chairs, they staggered upstairs to their beds. The greater part of the merry company lay on the floor in attitudes which were neither dignified nor comfortable, and snored. The rest of the inn was silent. From outside came the steady tramp of the soldiers who patrolled the town, and from far off their challenges to the sentries on watch at the ends of the streets. The girl came back to Maurice with the key in her hand. “I got it,” she said. “The master’s cocked up sleepin’ by the kitchen fire. There was a man in his bed, or maybe twa, but I didna wake them.” “Come back to me in half an hour,” said Maurice, “I may want your help. And listen, my lass, if you stand by me to-night I’ll see you safe afterwards. You shan’t want for a handful of silver or a bran new gown.” “I want none of your siller nor your gowns,” said the girl. “I’ll lend ye a han’ because you’re a friend of the lad that’s the friend of Jemmy Hope.” At about half-past twelve the sentry who stood in front of Neal’s cellar heard some one descend the stairs into the passage with shuffling steps. A slatternly girl with shoes so down at the heel that they clattered on the stone flags every time she lifted her feet, approached him. She rubbed her eyes and yawned like one lately wakened out of sleep. She carried a lantern in her hand. “What do you want here?” said the man.