Suddenly we smelt Standard oil, and a man emerged through a gap in
ancient masonry less than six feet away carrying a battered, cheap
"hurricane" lantern whose cracked glass had been reenforced with
patches of brown paper. He was armed to the teeth--literally. He
had a long knife in his mouth, a pistol in his left hand, and a rifle
slung behind him, but after one long look at us, holding the lantern
to each face in turn, he suddenly discarded all appearances of ferocity.

"You know about pistols?" he demanded of me in English, because I
was nearest, and thrust his Mauser repeater under my nose. "Why
won't this one work? I have tried it every way."

"Lordy!" remarked Will.

"Lead on in!" I suggested. Then, remembering my new part, "It'll
have to be some defect if one of us can't fix it!"

The gap-guard purred approval and swung his lantern by way of invitation
to follow him as he turned on a naked heel and led the way. We entered
one at a time through a hole in the wall of what looked like the
dungeon of an ancient castle, and followed him presently up the narrow
stone steps leading to a trap-door in the floor above. The trap-door
was made of odds and ends of planking held in place by weights.
When he knocked on it with the muzzle of his rifle we could hear
men lifting things before they could open it.

When a gap appeared overhead at last there was no blaze of light
to make us blink, but a row of heads at each edge of the hole with
nothing but another lantern somewhere in the gloom behind them.
One by one we went up and they made way for us, closing in each time