Suddenly into the heart
of the hush there broke the Cathedral chimes, almost, as it seemed,
directly above their heads, booming, echoing, dying with lingering music
back into the silence. At the corner of the Chapel there was a little
wooden door; Lawrence unlocked it and pushed it open. "Mind how you go,
sir," he said, speaking to Falk as though Davray did not exist. "'Tis a
bit difficult with the winding stair."
The two men went forward into the black darkness, leaving the dusky light
behind them. Davray led the way and Falk followed, feeling with his arms
the black walls on either side of him, knocking with his legs against the
steps above him. Here there was utter darkness and no sound. He had
suddenly a half-alarmed, half-humorous suspicion that Davray was suddenly
going to turn round upon him and push him down the stair or stick a knife
into him--the fear of the dark. "After all, what am I doing with this
fellow?" he thought. "I don't know him. I don't like him. I don't want to
be with him."
"That's better," he heard Davray say. There was a glimmer, then a shadow
of grey light, finally they had stepped out into what was known as the
Whispering Gallery, a narrow railed platform that ran the length of the
Chapel and beyond to the opposite Tower.
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