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Updated: May 21, 2025
Losing no time, and as noiseless as the shadows about him, Henry made his way down the back stairs, into the kitchen, down another flight of steps into the sub-cellar, past the bottom of the elevator shaft, the motor room, and to the front of the house. With swift, deft fingers he swung aside a panel of shelves containing rows of preserve jars and pickles, and stepped inside a small chamber.
The quarters of that great book collection, while housed in the Capitol, were distressingly restricted, and much of the cataloguing was done by the veteran mentioned in a sort of vault in the sub-cellar. This vault was crammed with musty tomes from floor to ceiling, and practically no air was admitted. It was a wonder that he lived so long, but, when he came to die, he did it rather suddenly.
"He'll swing for this murder, if not for the death of Sinclair Spencer." "I doubt if he was guilty of that crime," said Miller quietly. "What!" Mitchell stared incredulously at him. "What leads you to think that?" "Hush!" Miller held up a warning hand as the sound of hurrying footsteps reached them. A second more and Julie appeared in the sub-cellar, guided by their light.
He turned around, running now toward the castle, trying to make the sub-cellar in which he had been fastened for the night; and when he finally found himself under those dusty cobwebs, he felt as though he were in the most luxurious salon, and he devoutly blessed the good workmanship of the castle builders. The subterranean silence began gradually to bring back his sense of hearing.
"Sub-cellar, basement anything you like to call it!" put in Jimmy. "But is it possible that none of us is seriously hurt?" He walked over a pile of masonry and beams. He saw Bob crawling out of a hole and Franz swinging himself down from what appeared to be a ledge. Roger picked himself up from a corner.
But the man nobly concealed the price he had had to pay, to be content to sleep upon a straw mattress in a sub-cellar nor did Trusia know what sacrifices her former minister was making for her meagre comforts. The door of an apartment stood open at the end of the next turn in the entry. Both men, hushed by conflicting emotions, stood regarding the scene before them.
Without replying Miller led the way through the silent house, his torch and occasional whispered direction guiding them to the sub-cellar. Inside the chamber under the parking of the house, Henry worked with tireless energy, taking down the coded messages as they flashed from the skilled fingers of the Government operators in the great War, State, and Navy Department but a stone's throw away.
As Danton's broad back descended down the steps, a vulpine head peered out of the alcove, and Robespierre's cunning, self-satisfied look showed that he recognized Henriette's visitant. In the days following her immurement in the dreadful sub-cellar, Louise became the Frochards' breadwinner. Her pathetic blindness, lovely face and form, and sweet young voice attracted sympathy from each passer-by.
"We can take our time, because the other boys go in first, soften things up. Then you and I head for the sub-cellar for a radiation check and find you a handsome corpse." Walking at first, then crawling when the dunes no longer shielded them, they crept up on the Disan keep. Dark figures moved ahead of them, stopping only when they reached the crumbling black walls.
"What possessed her to go to the sub-cellar?" asked Foster. "Probably a demon of unrest, or she may have had some message to leave for Heinrich," suggested Miller. "When he grappled with her in the dark she undoubtedly thought him a detective and dared not call out for fear of disclosing her identity. Probably she thought Heinrich out of the house, and never dreamed of his attacking her."
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