CHAPTER XIV. Mr. Beverley Qualifies for the Stage
Bill had come back, and had reported, rather breathless, that Cayley was still at the pond.
"But I don't think they're getting up much except mud," he said. "I ran most of the way back so as to give us as much time as possible."
Antony nodded.
"Well, come along, then," he said. "The sooner, the quicker."
They stood in front of the row of sermons. Antony took down the Reverend Theodore Ussher's famous volume, and felt for the spring. Bill pulled. The shelves swung open towards them.
"By Jove!" said Bill, "it is a narrow way."
There was an opening about a yard square in front of them, which had something the look of a brick fireplace, a fireplace raised about two feet from the ground. But, save for one row of bricks in front, the floor of it was emptiness. Antony took a torch from his pocket and flashed it down into the blackness.
"Look," he whispered to the eager Bill. "The steps begin down there. Six feet down."
