Greyle drew the attention of his companions to
a heap of earth and rubbish at the entrance.
"We had to clear all that out before we could get in here," he said.
"This archway hadn't been opened for ages. This, of course, is the very
lowest story of the Keep, and half beneath the level of the ground
outside. Its roof has gone, like all the rest, but as you see, something
else has supplied its place. Hold up your lantern, Marris!"
The other men looked up and saw what the Squire meant. Across the tower,
at a height of some fifteen or twenty feet from the floor, Nature, left
unchecked, had thrown a ceiling of green stuff. Bramble, ivy, and other
spreading and climbing plants had, in the course of years, made a
complete network from wall to wall. In places it was so thick that no
light could be seen through it from beneath; in other places it was thin
and glimpses of the sky could be seen from above the grey, tunnel-like
walls. And in one of those places, close to the walls, there was a
distinct gap, jagged and irregular, as if some heavy mass had recently
plunged through the screen of leaf and branch from the heights above, and
beneath this the startled searchers saw the body, lying beside a heap of
stones and earth in the unmistakable stillness of death.
"You see how it must have happened," whispered Greyle, as they all bent
round the dead man.
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