“If any other stone has been moved within the past five hundred years I’ll—well, I don’t think it has. Have you got a cigarette?”

We sat against a pillar and rested for a short time. But before his cigarette was half finished, Tony stood up.

“I can’t sit, I’m too restless.”

“I know what you mean.” I followed as he headed for the far end of the long, shadowy chamber. “Like the clouds overhead, a feeling of impending doom….”

“Stop that.”

The beam of his flashlight darted frivolously around the room, glancing off ponderous stone pillars, illuminating a carved face or two bronze hands clasped around the hilt of a sword.

“What are you looking for?”

“There ought to be a door down here somewhere. For workmen, repair materials—they wouldn’t drag lumber through the chapel…. Ah, I thought so.”

The north end of the crypt was made of brick instead of the stone prevalent elsewhere. Set into the wall was a low door fashioned of heavy wooden beams bound with iron. One of the keys on the Gräfin’s ring fit the massive keyhole, but in addition there was a modern padlock and a series of bolts and chains. When these had been dealt with the door opened into a corridor with a number of rooms leading off it. The first was typical of all the others—a vaulted stone chamber, poorly lit by a grating high in the wall. It contained nothing but some scraps of wood and a broken pottery bowl.

“Storage room,” said Tony, after an inspection had yielded nothing of interest. “We must be under the far end of our own wing now. My God, this place is big.”

“Too big. All we need to do is miss one stone, in one wall or floor.”

“It isn’t as bad as that. These are public rooms—places the servants had access to. It’s unlikely that the count would have a secret wall safe down here.”

We gave the other storerooms only a cursory search. Finally we reached a big room lit by several windows at ground level, but still dark and dismal. On one wall was a flat stone slab like a table. In the corner was a hooded fireplace big enough to roast a couple of oxen.

“Kitchen,” Tony announced unnecessarily. “How would you like to whip up a meal in this mausoleum? We’re under the Great Hall—I’ll bet that stair goes up to it. Here’s where the banquets were cooked.”

“We won’t have to thump on these walls, then. I haven’t got any skin left on my knuckles.”

“Here’s your well.”

Tony tugged at a stone which was equipped with a rusted iron ring. The stone slid aside with a screech, leaving a gaping hole. Peering into it I saw, far below, the glimmer of water.

“Cover it up,” I said suddenly, glancing over my shoulder.