But the worst was to come. From the holes in the ceiling already alluded
to, descended three heavy bell-shaped helmets, fashioned like those worn
by divers at the bottom of the sea, and having round eyelet-holes of
glass. It was evident, from the manner of their descent, that these
helmets must drop on the heads of the sitters--a conviction that filled
them with inexpressible terror. They shouted, and swore frightfully; but
their vociferations availed them nothing. Down came the helmets, and the
same moment the monkey, which had been seen by Reeks, issued from a
cupboard at the top of a cabinet, and grinned and gibbered at them. Down came the first helmet, and covered the Tinker to the shoulders. His
appearance was at once ludicrous and terrible, and his roaring within
the casque sounded like the bellowing of a baited bull. Down came the second helmet, though rather more slowly, and the Sandman
was eclipsed in the same manner as the Tinker, and roared as loudly. [Illustration: The Enchanted Chairs.] In both these instances the helmets had dropped without guidance, but in
the case of Mr. Thorneycroft, a hand, thrust out of the hole in the
ceiling, held the helmet suspended over his head, like the sword of
Damocles. While the poor iron-merchant momentarily expected the same
doom as his companions, his attention was attracted towards the monkey,
which, clinging with one hand to the side of the cabinet, extended
the other skinny arm towards him, and exclaimed--"Will you swear to go
hence if you are spared?" "No, I will not," replied the iron-merchant. He had scarcely spoken,
when the helmet fell with a jerk, and extinguished him like the others. Ginger alone remained. During the whole of this strange scene, he had
stood with the bottle in hand, transfixed with terror and astonishment,
and wholly unable to move or cry out. A climax was put to his fright, by
the descent of the three chairs, with their occupants, through the floor
into a vault beneath; and as the helmets were whisked up again to the
ceiling, and the trap-doors closed upon the chairs, he dropped the
bottle, and fell with his face upon the table. He was, however, soon
roused by a pull at his hair, while a shrill voice called him by his
name. "Who is it?" groaned the dog-fancier. "Look up!" cried the speaker, again plucking his hair. Ginger complied, and beheld the monkey seated beside him. "Vy, it can't be, sure_ly_," he cried. "And yet I could almost svear it
was Old Parr." "You're near the mark," replied the other, with a shrill laugh. "It is
your venerable friend." "Vot the deuce are you doing here, and in this dress, or rayther
undress?" inquired Ginger. "Ven I see you this mornin', you wos in the
serwice of Mr. Loftus." "I've got a new master since then," replied the dwarf. "I'm sorry to hear it," said Ginger, shaking his head. "You haven't sold
yourself, like Doctor Forster--eh?" "Faustus, my dear Ginger--not Forster," corrected Old Parr. "No, no,
I've made no bargain. And to be plain with you, I've no desire to remain
long in my present master's service." "I don't like to ask the question too directly, wenerable," said
Ginger, in a deprecatory tone--"but is your master--hem!--is
he--hem!--the--the----"

"The devil, you would say," supplied Old Parr. "Between ourselves, I'm
afraid there's no denying it." "La! wot a horrible idea!" exclaimed Ginger, with a shudder; "it makes
the flesh creep on one's bones. Then we're in your master's power?" "Very like it," replied Old Parr. "And there ain't no chance o' deliverance?" "None that occurs to me." "O Lord! O Lord!" groaned Ginger; "I'll repent. I'll become a reformed
character. I'll never steal dogs no more." "In that case, there may be some chance for you," said Old Parr. "I
think I could help you to escape. Come with me, and I'll try and get you
out." "But wot is to become of the others?" demanded Ginger. "Oh, leave them to their fate," replied Old Parr. "No, that'll never do," cried Ginger. "Ve're all in the same boat, and
must row out together the best vay ve can. I tell you wot it is,
wenerable," he added, seizing him by the throat--"your master may be
the devil, but you're mortal; and if you don't help me to deliver my
companions, I'll squeege your windpipe for you." "That's not the way to induce me to help you," said Old Parr, twisting
himself like an eel out of the other's gripe. "Now get out, if you can." "Don't be angry," cried Ginger, seeing the mistake he had committed, and
trying to conciliate him; "I only meant to frighten you a bit. Can you
tell me if Mr. Auriol Darcy is here?" "Yes, he is, and a close prisoner," replied Old Parr. "And the girl--Miss Ebber, wot of her?" "I can't say," rejoined Old Parr. "I can only speak to the living." "Then she's dead!" cried Ginger, with a look of horror. "That's a secret," replied the dwarf mysteriously; "and I'm bound by a
terrible oath not to disclose it." "I'll have it out of you notvithstandin'," muttered Ginger. "I vish you
would lend me a knock on the head, old feller. I can't help thinkin'
I've got a terrible fit o' the nightmare." "Let this waken you, then," said Old Parr, giving him a sound buffet on
the ear. "Holloa, wenerable! not so hard!" cried Ginger. "Ha! ha! ha!" screamed the dwarf. "You know what you're about now." "Not exactly," said Ginger. "I vish I wos fairly out o' this cursed
place!" "You shouldn't have ventured into the lion's den," said Old Parr, in a
taunting tone. "But come with me, and perhaps I may be able to do
something towards your liberation." So saying, he drew aside the tapestry, and opened a panel behind it,
through which he passed, and beckoned Ginger to follow him. Taking a
pistol from his pocket, the latter complied. CHAPTER III

GERARD PASTON


Before the chair, in which Mr. Thorneycroft was fixed, reached the
ground, terror had taken away his senses. A bottle of salts, placed to
his nose, revived him after a time; but he had nearly relapsed into
insensibility on seeing two strange figures, in hideous masks and sable
cloaks, standing on either side of him, while at a little distance was a
third, who carried a strangely-fashioned lantern. He looked round for
his companions in misfortune, but, though the chairs were there, they
were unoccupied. The masked attendants paid no attention to the iron-merchant's cries and
entreaties; but as soon as they thought him able to move, they touched a
spring, which freed his arms and legs from their bondage, and raising
him, dragged him out of the vault, and along a narrow passage, till they
came to a large sepulchral-looking chamber, cased with black marble, in
the midst of which, on a velvet fauteuil of the same hue as the walls,
sat Cyprian Rougemont. It was, in fact, the chamber where Ebba had been
subject to her terrible trial. Bewildered with terror, the poor iron-merchant threw himself at the feet
of Rougemont, who, eyeing him with a look of malignant triumph, cried--

"You have come to seek your daughter. Behold her!"