Also, it got
cold, while it had been quite warm below. So I knew we were getting
near the surface where the black frost was.

Plung! I darted my long staff with the hook at the end of it between
the door and the doorpost. Luckily it caught on the steel part, so the
man behind could not get the key to turn. Way there! I used my staff
as a lever. The door gave. And in the chill dawn I found myself in a
little sham ruin, covered with ivy, quite near the place where Mr.
Stennis got off his pony and came upon us the very first day Elsie and
I had ever gone to Deep Moat Grange.

There was nobody there. My gentleman had failed to lock the door, but
had managed to shoot an outside bolt which my long hook lever had torn
away like so much brown paper. I climbed through a gap in the
ruin--either a bit of an old cottage, such as shepherds live in, or,
more probably, a thing built on purpose to shield the head of the
secret passage. I had never thought of secret passages in connection
with the Grange. But, of course--come to think of it--the people there
would not have respected themselves if they had not at least one. They
saw to it first thing--after the little coffins. "Necessities first,
luxuries after," as my poor mother used to say when she confiscated my
Saturday's penny for the Sunday's church collection.

But in the growing light of the morning--dawn is the proper word,
though smelling of poetry--I saw the man who had led me such a chase
running through the wood in the direction of Brom Common. Now, I knew
that piece. Had not Elsie and I come there, crawling on our
stomachs--yes, lifting our four feet one at a time, counting the front
ones, and not daring to move hardly! I was sure the fellow would have
to cross the road, and I knew where. He would not do it right in front
of Mr. Bailiff Ball's house; he would have to turn away to the right,
about the place where poor Harry Foster was done to death. Because,
you see, he would have to cross Brom Water by the bridge, and he
couldn't expect to have secret passages everywhere handy. So I made
right for that place. It was risky, I own; but then I was in the mood
for risks.

I could see him running--or rather gliding--a big portfolio thing under
his arm, from tree to tree. And it came to me with a sudden certainty
that this man knew the fate of my father, and that he was carrying off
the booty under his armpits. Then somehow I got very angry all at
on