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the keep of the castle was silhouetted as a dark mass – partly against the sky and partly against the surrounding snows. It was a bleakly rectangular structure, at present encased in a criss-cross of metal and wooden scaffolding. This added to its grim appearance. It was like a prison that had been thrust inside a cage.
    ‘You seem to have quite a job of work on hand, over there,’ Appleby said.
    ‘Perfectly true. The weather has halted it for a time, but during the autumn we had masons all over the Castle. The Office of Works pays for most of it, I’m thankful to say.’ Darien-Gore laughed whimsically. ‘Odd, isn’t it? My ancestors built the place to defy the Crown, more or less. And now the Crown comes along, tells me I’m an Ancient Monument, and spends pots of money propping up my ruins.’
    ‘Is that the famous well?’ Judith asked. She pointed downwards. The inner bailey was a virgin rectangle of untrodden snow – part in shadow and part glittering in the moonlight. In the centre of it a low circular wall, about the size of a large cartwheel, surrounded a patch of impenetrable darkness.
    ‘Yes, that’s the well. I see you must really have been reading that guidebook, Lady Appleby. It’s certainly what everybody wants to see. We put a grid over it when the castle’s being shown – otherwise we might have a nasty bill for damages one day.’
    ‘But why is it famous?’ Judith asked. ‘Is there some legend connected with it?’
    ‘Nothing of that kind. What’s out-of-the-way about it is matter of sober fact. It oughtn’t really to be called a well. Think of it as a shaft – an uncommonly deep one – going down to a subterranean river, and you get the idea of it. The guide recites ‘Kubla Khan’ to them, you know. To the tourists, I mean.’
    ‘How very strange!’ Judith said. ‘Where Alph the sacred river ran?’
    ‘Exactly. And through caverns measureless to man. There’s some vast underground system there in the limestone. Ever been to those caves outside Rheims, where you walk for miles between bottles of champagne? It’s said to be like that here – only on a vastly larger scale. And, of course, no champagne.’
    ‘Can it be explored?’ Judith asked. ‘By the kind of people who go potholing – that sort of thing?’
    ‘Not possible, it seems. Cast anything down my well, and it’s gone for ever. And that doesn’t apply merely to orange-peel and threepenny-bits. If you wanted to get rid of an elephant, and no questions asked or askable, the well would be just the place. It’s had its grim enough uses in the past, as you can guess.’ Rather abruptly, yet with a touch of achieved showmanship, Darien-Gore closed the curtains. ‘We dine at eight,’ he said. ‘Before that, people often gather for an hour or so in the gallery. At this time of year, it serves its original purpose very well. All sorts of games are possible, and we even manage a little archery. I don’t know whether either of you happens to be interested in that sort of thing.’
    ‘I’ve tried archery from time to time,’ Judith said. ‘And I’d like to improve.’
    ‘Then you must have a go under Robert’s instruction. He’s quite keen, I’m glad to say.’ Darien-Gore paused, as if uncertain whether to proceed. ‘As my small house-party consists of intimates, perhaps you will forgive me if I say something more about my brother. He is moody at times. In fact his nervous health has not been good over the past year, and allowances must sometimes be made for him. I think you will like his wife, Prunella. She’s a courageous woman.’
    ‘And who else is staying at the Castle?’ Judith asked. She had received with the appropriate mild concern the confidence just imparted to her.
    ‘Well, there’s Mr Jolly, whom you’ve heard about. By the way, we’ve put him in the room next to yours. My glimpse of him doesn’t suggest that he will be quite as entertaining as he sounds. Then there’s my very old