eenth century, but
these had been pulled down and used for the foundations of the new
mansion. Now it stood a lonely shell, its three storeys, each a single
great room connected by a spiral stone staircase, being dedicated to
lumber and the storage of produce. But it was dry and intact, its
massive oak doors defied any weapon short of artillery, its narrow
unglazed windows would scarcely have admitted a cat--a place
portentously strong, gloomy, but yet habitable.

Dougal opened the main door with a massy key. "The lassie fund it," he
whispered to Dickson, "somewhere about the kitchen--and I guessed it
was the key o' this castle. I was thinkin' that if things got ower hot
it would be a good plan to flit here. Change our base, like." The
Chieftain's occasional studies in war had trained his tongue 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.

"Nobody must show a light," Heritage observed. "It mustn'