Faversham unstrapped his sword and revolver from his belt and laid
them on the table.

"I saw that your house had unfortunately suffered."

"Suffered!" said the garrulous little man. "It is ruined, sir, and its
master with it. Ah, war! It is a fine thing no doubt for you young
gentlemen, but for me? I have lived in a cellar, Sir, under the ground
ever since your guns first woke us from our sleep. Look, I will show
you."

He went out from the dining-room into the hall and from the hall into
the street; Faversham followed him. There was a wooden trap in the
pavement close by the wall with an iron ring. The landlord pulled
at the ring and raised the trap disclosing a narrow flight of stone
steps. Faversham bent forward and peered down into a dark cellar.

"Yes it is there that I have lived. Come down, Sir, and see for
yourself;" and the landlord moved down a couple of steps. Faversham
drew back. At once the landlord turned to him.

"But there is nothing to fear, Sir," he said with a deprecatory smile.
Faversham coloured to the roots of his hair.

"Of course there is nothing," said he and he followed the landlord.
The cellar was only lighted by the trap-door and at first Faversham
coming out of the daylight could distinguish nothing at all. He stood,
however, with his back to the light and in a little he began to see. A
little truckle-bed with a patchwork counterpane stood at the end, the