“Let us first see,” said he, “whether it is possible to remove the traces of my entrance here—our future tranquillity depends upon our jailers being entirely ignorant of it.”
Advancing to the opening, he stooped and raised the stone easily in spite of its weight; then, fitting it into its place, he said:
“You removed this stone very carelessly; but I suppose you had no tools to aid you.”
“Why,” exclaimed Dantès, with astonishment, “do you possess any?”
“I made myself some; and with the exception of a file, I have all that are necessary,—a chisel, pincers, and lever.”
“Oh, how I should like to see these products of your industry and patience.”
“Well, in the first place, here is my chisel.”
So saying, he displayed a sharp strong blade, with a handle made of beechwood.
“And with what did you contrive to make that?” inquired Dantès.
“With one of the clamps of my bedstead; and this very tool has sufficed me to hollow out the road by which I came hither, a distance of about fifty feet.”
“Fifty feet!” responded Dantès, almost terrified.
“Do not speak so loud, young man—don’t speak so loud. It frequently occurs in a state prison like this, that persons are stationed outside the doors of the cells purposely to overhear the conversation of the prisoners.”
“But they believe I am shut up alone here.”
“That makes no difference.”
“And you say that you dug your way a distance of fifty feet to get here?”