No light was to be seen.  It appeared the monks had either deserted their dwelling or fortified it by fastening with boards the windows and doors.  The latter was the case.  The besiegers with all sorts of sticks, stones and bludgeons began at once to bombard the building that stood dark and seemingly impregnable.  Buckingham stood some distance from them, as if indeed he were of different mould and could not mingle with their steaming, smoking, foul-smelling bodies, that reeked of gin and poor tobacco.  He waited only for an entrance to be made, that he might pass in without the labour of making an opening for himself.  Indeed, his arm, unused to such rough strength, would become unfit to handle the sword of a gentleman.

He was leant upon one knee behind a strip of iris that bordered a forest path, when suddenly he heard the crash of glass and heard a triumphant yell from the mob.  He sprang from his hiding and crept toward the place.  A window had been broken in and the fight had already begun.  The monks were well equipped for battle with weapon, strength and stout hearts and a good stone wall for shelter, but their numbers were weak.

The siege was destined to be a long and bloody one, unless the ponderous door could be broken, for the mob could not enter fast enough through the small casement.  Should this be done, it was evident the monks would be obliged to either take flight, surrender or be foully murdered.

Buckingham could not enter the window without taking part in the fight, and mayhap run a great risk to his person.

He was not long in discovering, however, that the doorway was being bombarded successfully, and soon the massive door must succumb.

At last there was a thundering crash, and broken oak panels flew through the air.

The men rushed in.  Buckingham in a moment was in their midst and fighting his way through them.  He flung himself aside and escaped the fighting mass by a small door that led him to a passage, where he regained his breath and looked out for his bearings.

He found his way through many winding passages to the panel.  This he opened and quickly strode through to the trapdoor, which stood agape.  From beneath came the sound of voices.  He knelt and looked down.  There was no light to guide him.  Cautiously he descended the ladder, finding his way warily toward the place where he had seen the chest and whence now came the voices.  One was saying: 

“It’s gone, the damn knaves have secreted it; we must have a light, Anson, or the horde above stair will be upon us, and all the fires of hell could hardly show us out of this dungeon.”  Whereupon the flint was struck and the forms of three men were dimly outlined.

They began running about nervously in different directions to find the chest; his Grace keeping from view by following in their shadow.  Back they went again to the spot where it had stood, and as the light fell full in their faces Buckingham recognized the pale, chiselled countenance of Cantemir.  There were two servants with him, which, judging from their eagerness, evidently expected perquisites.