but on the following morning, when colin accompanied colonel ossington in a walk round the garden, a new light seemed to come to him.
they were passing the little postern of which so much had been said—the postern through which, as the boy declared, he had himself seen the apparition of neil leslie disappear on the previous night. here colin now stood. he stamped his feet upon the ground.
"listen!" he said. "do you hear anything?" he stamped once again. "i've often thought, as i have passed this spot, that the ground seems to give back a hollow sound."
"and if it does, what of it?" asked colonel ossington.
"well," said colin, with a curious lift of his eyebrows, "i was thinking that it is just possible there may be some cave, or passage, or cellar under here; and that perhaps it was down there that the guns and things you were telling us of last night were stored."
"you may be right," smiled the colonel, "but i don't see that it matters very much now. it's so long ago, you know."
"yes," went on colin, "but i should like to find out, all the same. i have often thought of it before—of the underground passage, i mean. most castles in scotland have underground passages somewhere, and castle leslie can scarcely be an exception. at one time i thought i had found a way into this one." he pointed up to the top of the ivy-covered wall. "you see the place where that buttress ends?" he asked. the colonel nodded. "well, last spring a jenny wren built her nest up there. i wanted to get it. i climbed up from the inside of the ruin, and crept along the top of the wall. i had got as far as where the nest was when, leaning over to reach it, i felt one of the big stones give way beneath me. i held on by the ivy; but the loosened stone fell with a crash to the ground. i didn't look where it fell. i was only thinking of how i should get down with the nest. but a day or two afterwards i was coming through the place that used to be the guard-room in the old days, before hawley's dragoons burnt this part of the castle down, and i saw the stone lying there. it wasn't smashed; but it had smashed the flagstone that it had fallen upon. some parts of the flagstone had dropped through, right down into a sort of black well. i did not try to open the well; although i should have done if any other boys had been here to help me. but this morning i thought of it again in connection with your story—"
"i understand," interrupted the colonel. "you think it may have been down there that old sir john leslie hid the arms for the rebels, eh? well, let me see this fancied entrance to the subterranean passage. where is it?"
"it's through here," said colin. and he led his companion through the postern gate into a large roofless room.
in one of the corners there was a heap of garden refuse, covered by a thin layer of melting snow. colin took an old spade and industriously cleared the rubbish away. presently he revealed a large cracked flagstone. he went down on his knees and busily endeavoured to dislodge one of the broken fragments. he scraped and tore and pulled at it to no purpose. then he stood up and stamped upon it. the rattling of loose earth underneath encouraged him to continue.
"can you find such a thing as a pickaxe?" questioned colonel ossington.
colin shook his head, but ran, nevertheless, in search of some such instrument, returning some minutes afterwards with a heavy sledge-hammer. with this he opened an assault upon the flagstone, and soon succeeded in loosening one small fragment. a small brown rat darted out from the excavation and scampered across the uneven floor.
"wait!" cried the colonel; "lend me the hammer. let us try first to remove this smaller stone, then we can better get at the larger one."
he took the sledge-hammer, raised it over his shoulder, and brought it down with a well-directed blow upon the smaller stone, splitting it. a second blow broke it into splinters. these he removed. beneath them he discovered the end of a rusty bar of iron that was shot like a bolt through an iron ring. the bar seemed to extend under the larger flagstone, supporting it through its centre of gravity. for many minutes he hammered at the rusty iron, and with each blow the flagstone trembled on its axle and a shower of loosened stones and gravel fell into the depths below. with each development the old soldier's energy increased, while colin looked on absorbed in boyish expectation.
at last the corroded bar broke. the flagstone collapsed and slipped a few inches into the void, where it was arrested by some obstacle. its removal revealed an irregular opening, some two feet in diameter.
"you were right, boy," remarked the colonel; "there is indeed a secret chamber here, and this is, or once was, its entrance. see! the flagstone has formed a sort of trap-door. it may have been opened by a spring set under the smaller stone at the side. look down there; you can see the edge of one of the stone stairs."
"can we get down?" asked colin.
"it is possible, i think," returned the old soldier. "but we should require a lighted lantern. could you fetch one?"
colin ran off. he was absent some ten minutes. during that interval colonel ossington contrived so to force back the broken flagstone that it left an opening sufficiently wide to admit his body. he went upon his knees and thrust his feet into the cavity, descending step by step until his eyes were on a level with the paved floor. there he waited, resting with his hands on the second step. the fingers of his right hand touched something that was softer than the cold stone. he gripped it and drew it forth into the fuller light. it was a fragment of mouldy cloth or felt. attached to it was a disc of tarnished metal upon which the figure "4" was embossed.
"god!" he exclaimed, "it's the badge of the fourth foot."
he tore off the badge and thrust it into his pocket. at this moment colin leslie appeared with the lighted lantern, and accompanied by his grandfather.
"i am glad you have come too, sir donald," said the colonel somewhat absently.
"what boy's adventure are you contriving now, colonel?" demanded sir donald. "one would think that you had gone back to your childhood."
"not quite so far back as that," returned the old soldier grimly, "but my mind has indeed gone back to my young manhood. give me the light, colin," he added, turning to the lad. "i had better, perhaps, go down in advance."
"colin handed him the lantern."
colin handed him the lantern and stood at the top of the steps watching him slowly and cautiously descend. the light flickered upon the damp moss-grown stones of the walls that formed the sides of the narrow stairway. it went down and down, growing gradually dimmer and dimmer, until at last it died away. the old grandfather and colin waited, listening. they faintly heard the tread of the colonel's spurred boots echoing hollowly in the darkness. once they heard him cough, and then all was silent. the minutes slowly passed. sir donald grew a trifle nervous, his nervousness being indicated by the impatient tapping of his foot.
"listen!" cried colin. "i heard something fall—something that rattled." he knelt down and peered into the opening. "i hear him walking," he whispered. "he's coming nearer now. now he has stopped. now he is coming on again. he's on the stairs. he's carrying something that knocks against each step. i can see the reflection of the light now. and now here's the lantern." the boy drew back. "mind your head, colonel, or you'll knock it," he cried.
colonel ossington did not require the caution. bending his head, he crept upward, holding the lantern in his extended hand. presently his face appeared in the aperture. it was ghastly white, and his eyes stared wildly. he drew a deep breath of the fresher air.
"you had better come down," he said, glancing up at sir donald leslie; and drawing his left hand upward, he cast an old and rusty broadsword at the old man's feet. sir donald glanced at the weapon and kicked it aside.
"come!" reiterated the colonel in a voice of authority, and the grandfather slowly obeyed. colin followed him down the steps, although he was aware that he had not been included in the command. perhaps he would have been wiser to remain where he was, but his boyish curiosity and love of adventure overcame his caution. step by step they descended into the gloom. the air about them was damp and cold and stifling. the walls dripped with moisture. the stone stairs were slimy. darkness hemmed them in, saving only for a fitful glimmer of the lantern light that was below them.
"three steps more, sir donald," said the colonel, standing aside on the firm floor of what appeared to be an arched vault. he held the light aloft. "now, follow me closely," he added; "the passage turns sharply to the left. be careful of the corner. i knocked my elbow against it just now. is that the boy behind you?"
"yes."
"he ought not to have come. never mind now; let him follow close at your heels. now halt and look down upon the floor while i hold the light."
the colonel held out his free hand and gripped the older man's arm, directing his gaze into a narrow archway.
"those are the muskets," he said. "there are two hundred there. i have counted them."
colin crept up to his grandfather's side, holding him by the skirts of his coat. looking into the archway he saw the neatly stacked-up guns, with their rusty barrels and locks and rotting stocks.
the colonel drew his companions onward some three or four steps.
"and here are the claymores," said he. "you see the rebels did not get them, after all."
"no, alan was true," murmured sir donald. "i felt sure he would frustrate their delivery. but—" he gripped the soldier's arm and asked in a suppressed but eagerly acquisitive tone: "but where was the gold, colonel? did neil take it all—every guinea of it?"
the colonel held his lantern full in front of sir donald's face, which he regarded with an expression of undisguised contempt.
"the gold," he answered, "was stored in the next vault. and," he added loftily, as he signed to sir donald to go past him, "i think you will find it all there still."
"the light! the light!" demanded sir donald. "hold it nearer, that i may see."
by the help of the lantern he made his way a few steps farther into the chamber. the yellow rays of light were cast into the low vault. on the floor of hewn rock were many little canvas bags, that were so rotten and mouldy that their sides had fallen away under the pressure of the golden guineas that they had contained. the gold glistened in the lantern light. with greedy outstretched hands, and with eyes staring wide with covetousness, sir donald leapt at the treasure. he plunged his fingers into the midst of the coins, lifting his filled hands, and letting the gold fall from them in a jingling shower.
"wonderful!" he cried. "ah! now i am rich—rich—rich!" he glanced behind him with shrinking, miserly fear. "it's mine—all mine!" he frenziedly exclaimed, and proceeded eagerly to fill his pockets.
colonel ossington lightly touched him on the shoulder.
"remember, my friend, that the money is jacobite money," said he. "it was meant for the pretender, you know."
sir donald's coat-pockets were already full to overflowing.
"meant for the pretender?" he repeated. "ah, but look! look!" he added, holding up one of the coins to the light, "every one of them bears the head of the king! no; do not go yet! let me have the lantern."
"the money will not run away," remarked colonel ossington, passing on with the lantern. "you have found it, and may return when you will. and now, since we have solved the material part of the mystery, let us go further that you may understand its more human side."
he led the way, with colin at his side, and the grandfather was perforce obliged to follow.
"there is something here that you must see," said the colonel, as, having turned a sharp angle in the passage, he stood still, with his hat under his arm and holding the light in front of him so that its rays shot along the slimy floor. wondering, sir donald and his grandson bent forward, searching into the gloom. colin drew back as his eyes rested for a moment on something white. but he advanced again and timidly looked once more. his trembling finger pointed down upon the floor at the gaunt, fleshless face and the tall form of a man that was partly hidden under mouldy folds of a highland plaid and kilt. at the left shoulder there was a tarnished silver brooch, set in the centre with a dim yellow stone. the man lay flat on his back. his sword was in its scabbard at his side; the blanched bones of his right hand still held the remains of one of the canvas money-bags. the gold guineas lay in a little pile beneath the long fingers.
"he was carrying that bag of gold to give to the prince's messenger," cried the boy colin, aghast. "it is neil—neil leslie!"
"yes," nodded colonel ossington. "and he must have been met just here by his murderer."
"neil?" echoed sir donald, reeling back; "my brother neil? then he did not escape to france? and he has been dead all this time!" the old man shuddered. "murdered, did you say? but who could have murdered him down here? perhaps he died naturally. perhaps he could not find his way out up those stairs and through the stone trap-door!"
"the trap-door could certainly be opened only from the outside," remarked the colonel. "this place was evidently built as a dungeon—a prison from which it was not meant that any one should escape. but," he added solemnly, "neil leslie was not a prisoner. he probably left the door open, not expecting to be interrupted by the villain who drove that dagger into his honest heart. do you see the dagger, donald leslie?" he pointed to the dead man's breast, and brought the lantern nearer until its gleam fell upon the jewelled hilt of a highland dirk. "you should recognise the weapon—as i do. it used to hang under the painted portrait of the lady belinda. it is the same weapon that alan leslie carried away with him on the eve of culloden fight."
"neil? my brother neil?"
"i do not believe it!" cried sir donald excitedly. "my brother alan never was down here. he did not know of the existence of such a place, any more than i did until this hour. for all that you say i do not believe but that my brother alan died like a brave man on culloden moor, fighting, i thank god, for the king!"
colonel ossington silently shook his head and turned away, carrying the lantern with him to the foot of the stairs by which the three had entered the dungeon. here he stood, holding the lantern so that its light shone only directly in front of him. he confronted sir donald and colin, the while he put his hand into his breast pocket, and drew something forth which he held out for the old man's inspection.
"i found this on one of the upper stairs when i first entered," he said, holding the thing under the light. "it came off a soldier's regimental cap. it is the badge of the fourth foot. the man who wore it and who left it lying up there was a man whom i once called my friend; but whom i now know to have been a dishonourable spy, an unscrupulous traitor, an assassin and a fratricide. when neil leslie came down here faithfully to fulfil his father's instructions, he was dogged and followed by his brother. it was alan leslie who murdered him."
"then where is alan now?" interrupted sir donald. "why did he never come home?"
"because," answered the colonel, "when he came down here to kill his brother, he made the mistake of closing the trap-door behind him. he could not open it, he could not escape. he was imprisoned here with his dead victim. he may have starved; he may have been suffocated by the smoke from the burning building above him that night when hawley's dragoons set fire to the castle. however it was, he never left this place." the colonel moved aside, allowing the light to shine upon the dull red, mildewed cloth of a soldier's coat that covered the crouching figure of a man long dead. "that is what remains of alan leslie," he added grimly. he handed the lantern to colin, bidding the lad hold it aloft. he knelt down. "when a soldier disgraces his regiment," he continued, "we usually remove the facings from his uniform. this man was not worthy to wear the uniform of so honoured a regiment as the fourth foot."
"i think," remarked colin, "that, rebel though he was, neil leslie was by far the better man."
"i am sure of it, my boy," returned colonel ossington.
