“Come quietly,” said Hewitt, and stepped lightly after Miss Garth, Mr. Crellan at his heels.
She was nearing the opposite end of the passage, walking at a fair pace and looking neither to right nor left. There was another light over the smaller staircase at the end. Without hesitation Miss Garth turned down the stairs till about half down the flight, and then stopped and pressed her hand against the oak wainscot.
Immediately the vertical piece of framing against which she had placed her hand turned on central pivots top and bottom, revealing a small recess, three feet high and little more than six inches wide. Miss Garth stooped and felt about at the bottom of this recess for several seconds. Then with every sign of extreme agitation and horror she withdrew her hand empty, and sank on the stairs. Her head rolled from side to side on her shoulders, and beads of perspiration stood on her forehead. Hewitt with difficulty restrained Mr. Crellan from going to her assistance.
Presently, with a sort of shuddering sigh, Miss Garth rose, and after standing irresolute for a moment, descended the flight of stairs to the bottom. There she stopped again, and pressing her hand to her forehead, turned and began to re-ascend the stairs.
Hewitt touched his companion’s arm, and the two hastily but noiselessly made their way back along the passage to the study. Miss Garth left the open framing as it was, reached the top of the landing, and without stopping proceeded along the passage and turned up the main staircase, while Hewitt and Mr. Crellan still watched her from the study door.
At the top of the flight she turned to the right, and up three or four more steps toward her own room. There she stopped, and leaned thoughtfully on the handrail.
“Go up,” whispered Hewitt to Mr. Crellan, “as though you were going to bed. Appear surprised to see her; ask if she isn’t well, and, if you can, manage to repeat that question of mine about secret hiding-places in the house.”
Mr. Crellan nodded and started quickly up the stairs. Half-way up he turned his head, and, as he went on, “Why, Nelly, my dear,” he said, “what’s the matter? Aren’t you well?”
Mr. Crellan acted his part well, and waiting below, Hewitt heard this dialogue:
“No, uncle, I don’t feel very well, but it’s nothing. I think my room seems close. I can scarcely breathe.”
“Oh, it isn’t close to-night. You’ll be catching cold, my dear. Go and have a good sleep; you mustn’t worry that wise little head of yours, you know. Mr. Hewitt and I have been making quite a night of it, but I’m off to bed now.”
“I hope they’ve made you both quite comfortable, uncle?”
“Oh, yes; capital, capital. We’ve been talking over business, and, no doubt, we shall put that matter all in order soon. By the bye, I suppose since you saw Mr. Hewitt you haven’t happened to remember anything more to tell him?”
“No.”
“You still can’t remember any hiding-places or panels, or that sort of thing in the wainscot or anywhere?”
“No, I’m sure I don’t know of any, and I don’t believe for a moment that any exist.”
“Quite sure of that, I suppose?”
“Oh yes.”
“All right. Now go to bed. You’ll catch such a cold in these draughty landings. Come, I won’t move a step till I see your door shut behind you. Good-night.”
“Good-night, uncle.”
Mr. Crellan came downstairs again with a face of blank puzzlement.
“I wouldn’t have believed it,” he assured Martin Hewitt; “positively I wouldn’t have believed she’d have told such a lie, and with such confidence, too. There’s something deep and horrible here, I’m afraid. What does it mean?”
“We’ll talk of that afterwards,” Hewitt replied. “Come now and take a look at that recess.”
They went, quietly still, to the small staircase and there, with a candle, closely examined the recess. It was a mere box, three feet high, a foot or a little more deep, and six or seven inches wide. The piece of oak framing, pivoted to the stair at the bottom and to a horizontal piece of framing at the top, stood edge forward, dividing the opening down the centre. There was nothing whatever in the recess.
Hewitt ascertained that there was no catch, the plank simply remaining shut by virtue of fitting tightly, so that nothing but pressure on the proper part was requisite to open it. He had closed the plank and turned to speak to Mr. Crellan, when another interruption occurred.
On each floor the two staircases were joined by passages, and the ground-floor passage, from the foot of the flight they were on, led to the entrance hall. Distinct amid the loud clicking of the hall clock, Hewitt now heard a sound, as of a person’s foot shifting on a stone step.
Mr. Crellan heard it too, and each glanced at the other. Then Hewitt, shading the candle with his hand, led the way to the hall. There they listened for several seconds — almost an hour — it seemed — and then the noise was repeated. There was no doubt of it. It was at the other side of the front door.
In answer to Hewitt’s hurried whispers, Mr. Crellan assured him that there was no window from which, in the dark, a view could be got of a person standing outside the door. Also that any other way out would be equally noisy, and would entail the circuit of the house. The front door was fastened by three heavy bolts, an immense old-fashioned lock, and a bar. It would take nearly a minute to open at least, even if everything went easily. But, as there was no other way, Hewitt determined to try it. Handing the candle to his companion, he first lifted the bar, conceiving that it might be done with the least noise. It went easily, and, handling it carefully, Hewitt let it hang from its rivet without a sound. Just then, glancing at Mr. Crellan, he saw that he was forgetting to shade the candle, whose rays extended through the fanlight above the door, and probably through the wide crack under it. But it was too late. At the same moment the light was evidently perceived from outside; there was a hurried jump from the steps, and for an instant a sound of running on gravel. Hewitt tore back the bolts, flung the door open, and dashed out into the darkness, leaving Mr. Crellan on the doorstep with the candle.
Hewitt was gone, perhaps, five or ten minutes, although to Mr. Crellan — standing there at the open door in a state of high nervous tension, and with no notion of what was happening or what it all meant — the time seemed an eternity. When at last Hewitt reached the door again, “What was it?” asked Mr. Crellan, much agitated. “Did you see? Have you caught them?”
Hewitt shook his head.
“I hadn’t a chance,” he said. “The wall is low over there, and there’s a plantation of trees at the other side. But I think — yes, I begin to think — that I may possibly be able to see my way through this business in a little while. See this?”
On the top step in the sheltered porch there remained the wet prints of two feet. Hewitt took a letter from his pocket, opened it out, spread it carefully over the more perfect of the two marks, pressed it lightly and lifted it. Then, when the door was shut, he produced his pocket scissors, and with great care cut away the paper round the wet part, leaving a piece, of course, the shape of a boot sole.
“Come,” said Hewitt, “we may get at something after all. Don’t ask me to tell you anything now; I don’t know anything, as a matter of fact. I hope this is the end of the night’s entertainment, but I’m afraid the case is rather an unpleasant business. There is nothing for us to do now but to go to bed, I think. I suppose there’s a handy man kept about the place? ”
“Yes, he’s gardener and carpenter and carpetbeater, and so on.”
“Good! Where’s his sanctum? Where does he keep his shovels and carpet sticks?”