The dungeon beneath the Raven’s Tower was a more formidable place of detention than the dungeon under the North Tower. Originally the only access to it was by a trapdoor in the floor of what had been the guardroom of the keep. Down this the victims of MacDonald ferocity had been dropped into what was really a large pit, the sloping walls of which left a comparatively small level space at the bottom and thus inspired the name of Mac ’ic Eachainn’s Cradle. Such air and light as reached the dungeon came through a few loopholes above the massive sloping walls. At the end of the eighteenth century when the power of the chiefs had been broken and they had degenerated into mere landowners an entrance had been constructed to the Cradle from the stable-yard and it had served for many years as an outhouse, accumulating rubbish all the time. It was the present laird who when putting his estate in order with his wife’s dowry cleared out the Cradle, gave it an iron-studded oaken door two inches thick, and entertained his guests with tales of MacDonald prowess, which it would seem had kept Mac ’ic Eachainn’s Cradle as full of Macintoshes as a larder of game.

“You’d better put on a coat and hat, Mr Fletcher,” the old gamekeeper advised. “There’s a chill in the night air. Run, Alec, and bring Mr Fletcher’s coat and hat,” he told a gillie who was standing by one of the doors at the back of the Castle.

“Oh, we only have to cross the stable-yard,” said the chaplain. “Come along, Duncan. We can bring them in this way to the dining-hall.”

“If they’ll come quietly,” said Duncan.

“Why should they not? The girls came quietly enough.”

“Listen to that, Mr Fletcher.”

Across the yard reverberated a muffled thudding sound.

“What is it?” the chaplain asked. “It sounds like somebody chopping wood.”

“It will be the hikers banging on the Cradle door,” Duncan replied. “Och, they did not like it at all when we pushed them into the Cradle. Oh, indeed, no, not at all. They were threatening what they would do when they got out.”

“You’re not anticipating trouble are you, Duncan?”

“I’m not anticipating it, but I think we will have trouble with them. They’re very fierce, these London people. Wild savage people they are. We had quite a big business to get them into the Cradle.”

“Oh, I think they’ll have cooled down by now,” said the chaplain.

“They don’t sound very cool at all. They sound very hot. Ah, here’s Alec with your hat and coat. You’d better put them on, Mr Fletcher.”

The chaplain surrendered to Duncan’s solicitude and they crossed the yard together to the Raven’s Tower.

“Did you have a great deal of difficulty in persuading them to go into the dungeon?” the chaplain asked.