The nights were drawing in,
and a damp fog from the sea had drizzled the trees, and the ivy, and
even his own moustache with cold misery.
"Bring me a lantern," he said to old Jerry, as he swung his stiff legs
from the back of the jaded horse, "and the little flask of oil with the
feather in it. It is high time to put the Inspector's step in order."
Jerry Bowles, whose back and knees were bent with rheumatism and dull
service, trotted (like a horse who has become too stiff to walk) for the
things commanded, and came back with them. Then his master, without
a word, strode towards the passage giving entry to the vaults which
Stubbard had not seen--the vaults containing all the powder, and the
weapons for arming the peasantry of England, whom Napoleon fondly
expected to rise in his favour at the sight of his eagles.
"How does it work? Quite stiff with rust. I thought so. Nothing is ever
in order, unless I see to it myself. Give me the lantern. Now oil the
bearings thoroughly. Put the feather into the socket, and work the pin
in and out, that the oil may go all round. Now pour in some oil from the
lip of the flask; but not upon the treadle, you old blockhead. Now do
the other end the same. Ah, now it would go with the weight of a mouse!
I have a great mind to make you try it."
"What would you do, sir, if my neck was broken? Who would do your work,
as I do?"
They were under an arch of mouldy stone, opening into the deep dark
vaults, where the faint light of the lantern glanced on burnished
leather, brass, and steel, or fell without flash upon dull round bulk.
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