to a military jargon.

In the ground room lay a fine assortment of oddments, including
old bedsteads and servants' furniture, and what looked like ancient
discarded deerskin rugs. Dust lay thick over everything, and they
heard the scurry of rats. A dismal place, indeed, but Dickson felt
only its strangeness. The comfort of being back again among allies
had quickened his spirit to an adventurous mood. The old lords of
Huntingtower had once quarrelled and revelled and plotted here, and
now here he was at the same game. Present and past joined hands over
the gulf of years. The saga of Huntingtower was not ended.

The Die-Hards had brought with them their scanty bedding, their
lanterns and camp-kettles. These and the provisions from Mearns
Street were stowed away in a corner.

"Now for the Hoose, men," said Dougal. They stole over the downs
to the shrubbery, and Dickson found himself almost in the same place
as he had lain in three days before, watching a dusky lawn, while
the wet earth soaked through his trouser knees and the drip from the
azaleas trickled over his spine. Two of the boys fetched the ladder
and placed it against the verandah wall. Heritage first, then Dickson,
darted across the lawn and made the ascent. The six scouts followed,
and the ladder was pulled up and hidden among the verandah litter.
For a second the whole eight stood still and listened. There was no
sound except the murmur of the now falling wind and the melancholy
hooting of owls. The garrison had entered the Dark Tower.

A council in whispers was held in the garden-room.