“Well, I’ve been called a lunatic before this, lad.  And going down it I am, this minute.  And if you’ve the least qualms at following me, you can just watch up here and warn me with the old signal if you hear any one coming.  But I’m going down, to find out where this thing leads to, and a dollar to a ducat it’ll lead to a good deal that means the unravelling of a riddle.  The fellow who tangled the threads in the first place has a head any one might admire.  But what I want to know is what he’s taking all this trouble for.  Coming, Dollops?”

Dollops sent a reproachful look into Cleek’s face and sniffed audibly.

“Of course I’m comin’, guv’nor,” he made answer.  “D’yer think I’d be such a dirty blighter as ter let you go dahn there—­p’raps ter your very death—­alone?  Not me, sir.  Dollops is a-follerin’ wherever you lead, and if you chooses ’ell itself, well, ’e’s ready ter be roasted and fried in the devil’s saucepan, so long as ’e keeps yer company.”

Without waiting for the end of this gallant, if rather prolonged speech Cleek knelt down, set his two hands upon the iron ring and pulled for all he was worth.  But the ease with which the door lifted came as something of a surprise.  It came up silently, almost sending Cleek over backward, as indeed it would have done a man with less poise, but he easily recovered himself.  He and Dollops cautiously approached the edge, and in the half-light which the moon shed upon it (they did not use Cleek’s torch) saw that a flight of roughly-made clay steps led down into darkness below.  They sat back upon their heels and listened.  Not a sound.

“Coming?” whispered Cleek in a low, tense whisper.

“Yes sir.”  Dollops was beside him in an instant.  Cleek took the first step carefully, and very slowly descended into the darkness, with Dollops close behind him.  Down and down they went, and on reaching the bottom, found the place opened out into a sort of roughly-made tunnel, just as high as a man’s head, which ran on straight into the darkness in front of them.

“Gawd! gives yer the fair creeps, don’t it?” muttered Dollops as they stood in the gloom and tried to take their bearings.  “What yer goin’ ter do, sir?”

“Find out where it leads to—­if there’s time,” whispered Cleek rapidly.  “We’ve got to find out what these human moles are burrowing in the earth like this for.  I’d give a good deal to know.  Hear anything?”

“Not a blinkin’ sound, sir.”

“All right.  We’ll try the torch, and if any one turns up we’ll have to run for it.  Now.”  He touched the electric button, and a blob of light danced out upon the rough clay floor, revealing as it swung in Cleek’s swift fingers the whole circumference of the place from ground to ceiling.

“Cleverly made,” muttered that gentleman in an admiring whisper.  “It reminds me of the old ‘Twisted Arm’ days, Dollops, and the tunnels that ran to the sewers.  Remember?”