“Well, really, I don’t exactly know,” said her mother. “I suppose he works over there. He’s always met me down at the cove, and we’ve just sat on the sand and had a picnic and talked. He didn’t seem to want me to poke round much.”

“Let’s call him,” said Dick. So they shouted loudly.

“Uncle QUEN-tin! Uncle QUEN-tin! Where are you?”

The jackdaws flew up in fright, and a few gulls, who had been sitting on part of the ruined wall, joined in the noise, crying ‘ee-oo, ee-oo, ee-oo’ over and over again. Every rabbit disappeared in a trice.

No Uncle Quentin appeared. They shouted again.

“UNCLE QUENTIN! WHERE ARE YOU?”

“What a noise!” said Aunt Fanny, covering her ears. “I should think that Joanna must have heard that at home. Oh dear — where is your uncle? This is most annoying of him. I told him I’d bring you across today.”

“Oh well — he must be somewhere about,” said Julian, cheerfully. “If Mahomet won’t come to the mountain, then the mountain must go to Mahomet. I expect he’s deep in some book or other. We’ll hunt for him.”

“We’ll look in that little dark room,” said Anne. So they all went through the stone doorway, and found themselves in a little dark room, lit only by two slits of windows. At one end was a space, or recess, where a fireplace had once been, going back into the thick stone wall.

“He’s not here,” said Julian in surprise. “And what’s more — there’s nothing here at all! No food, no clothes, no books, no stores of any sort. This is not his workroom, nor even his store!”

“Then he must be down in the dungeons,” said Dick. “Perhaps it’s necessary to his work to be underground — and with water all round! Let’s go and find the entrance. We know where it is — not far from the old well in the middle of the yard.”

“Yes. He must be down in the dungeons. Mustn’t he, Aunt Fanny?” said Anne. “Are you coming down?”

“Oh no,” said her aunt. “I can’t bear those dungeons. I’ll sit out here in the sun, in this sheltered corner, and unpack the sandwiches. It’s almost lunch-time.”

“Oh good,” said everyone. They went towards the dungeon entrance. They expected to see the big flat stone that covered the entrance, standing upright, so that they might go down the steps underground.

But the stone was lying flat. Julian was just about to pull on the iron ring to lift it up when he noticed something peculiar.

“Look,” he said. “There are weeds growing round the edges of the stone. Nobody has lifted it for a long time. Uncle Quentin isn’t down in the dungeons!”

“Then where is he?” said Dick. “Wherever can he be?”

Chapter Four

Where is Uncle Quentin?

The four of them, with Timmy nosing round their legs, stood staring down at the big stone that hid the entrance to the dungeons. Julian was perfectly right. The stone could not have been lifted for months, because weeds had grown closely round the edges, sending their small roots into every crack.