o so. They declared the
place haunted and were in a state of terror even to be near it.

Manuel, after pausing for a moment to take his breath, strode up to the
group.

"Get in there, some of you!" he ordered, "And show me the way. I want to
see over the place."

A chorus of wails arose. The guards shrank and cowered at the
suggestion. Their terror was more than panicky, it was even hysterical.
They shook with convulsive jerks of fear, as though they had a spasm
disease.

"Christophe!" cried one of them, in a sort of howl. "Christophe! For
three days he is here, Yes! We see him walk, Yes! If we go in, he will
make us jump off the cliff!"

And another added, with an undertone of superstitious horror,

"And his ghost will be waiting at the bottom to carry our ghosts away!"

"Fools!" declared Manuel, "open the door!"

He pointed to where the huge, rusty iron-bound door frowned in the blank
wall of gray stone.

The negro guards hung back and gabbled together, but Manuel turned upon
them fiercely with uplifted switch. At that, the giant warder, who had
already acknowledged the mastership, slouched forward and pulled open
the creaking door, leaving a dark opening from which came the smell of
foul air and poisonous vegetation.

Manuel motioned with his head for Stuart to precede him.

The boy hesitated. He was brave enough, but the terror of the negroes
was catching. He would not have admitted to being afraid, but there was
a lump in his throat and his legs felt unsteady.

The Cuban, who felt sure that Stuart was not the negro horse-boy that he
seemed, judged this appearance of fear as evidence that the boy was
still playing a part, and turned on him with a snarl.

"Get in there, you!"

Screwing up his courage, Stuart stepped forward, though hesitatingly and
unwillingly. Just as he crossed the threshold, the giant warder reached
out a gaunt hand and pulled him back.

"Not that way!" he said. "Two steps more, Boy, and you are dead!"

Manuel started. From his pocket he took a portable electric light and
flashed it upon the ground just within the entrance.

The negro guard was right. Immediately before him lay a deep pit, how
deep there was no means of saying. Once it had been covered with a
trap-door, which could be worked from the Inner Citadel. Thus
Christophe, if he pleased, could send a message of welcome to his
visitors, and drop them to a living death with the words of hospitality
on his lips.

"If