Fred was up again in a moment, ready to pass his arms through and help
his friend; but the latter had already recovered himself, and was
holding on with both hands, now staring between the balusters like a
wild beast through the bars of his cage.
"What's the matter?" he said.
"I thought you were falling. Which one broke?"
"I don't know; neither of them."
"But what was that clacking noise?"
"I don't know. The baluster seemed to turn half round, and then fly
back as if it had a spring at the bottom."
"I know! Look here. It wrenched this stair loose. I trod on it, and
that's what made me fall."
"Wait till I've gone down to the bottom," said Scarlett, "and we'll soon
put that right."
As he spoke, the lad went on down, hand by hand, as Fred had made the
descent before him, and then came running up the polished oaken stairs
to where his companion stood by the top stair but one, upon which lay a
broad stain of red and gold, cast by a ray of light passing through one
of the painted windows.
"It must have come unnailed," said Scarlett, as he knelt down.
"I don't think it has," replied Fred, as he knelt beside him. "Look
here, it's quite loose; and see here, you can push it right in."
He thrust at the oaken board as he spoke, and it glided horizontally
from them under the top step which formed the landing, and left a long
opening like a narrow box the length and width of the stair.
"Don't push too far," cried Scarlett, "or we shan't get it back. Pull."
The boys pulled together, and the oaken tread glided back toward them
with the greatest ease, like a well-made drawer.
"Mind!" shouted Fred. And they snatched away their fingers just in time
to save a nasty pinch, for the board came swiftly back into its
position. There was a sharp _crick-crack_, and the stair was as solid
as before, and the broad stain from the painted window lay in its old
place on the dark brown wood.
Scarlett Markham turned and stared at Fred Forrester, and Fred Forrester
turned and stared at him.
"I say, what do you think of that?" said Scarlett.
"I don't know. What do you?"
"I don't know either," said Scarlett, trying to move the board again.
But it was firm as the rest of the stairs.
"Did you see that baluster?" said Fred.
"See it? No. What do you mean?"
"It seemed to me to move and make that noise."
"Nonsense! How could it?"
"I don't know, but it was just the same noise as it made when you missed
your hold and swung round."
"So it was; and I had hold of it," said Scarlett, thoughtfully, as he
laid his hand on the piece of turned and carved wood. "But it's quite
firm." He gave it a shake, but with no effect. "You come and try," he
said.
Fred took his place, and shook the baluster, then the other--its
fellow--but there was no result.
"I don't know what to make of this," said Scarlett. "I wonder whether
all the stairs are made the same. There, never mind; let's go and
fish."
"Stop a moment!" cried Fred, excitedly. "Look here; you can turn this
thing half round. See!"
"Well, that's only because it's loose. They're getting old and--"
_Crick-crack_!
Scarlett Markham started back, so quick and sudden was the sound, but
only to resume his position on his knees before the oaken stair-tread,
which again yielded to a thrust, and glided under the landing once more,
leaving the opening the length and breadth of the great stair.
"Why, it's like the lid of a sliding box, Scar," cried Fred. "Now then,
let's pull it over once more. But look here, it won't go any further."
This was the case, for about an inch of the carved front was left for
them to take hold of and draw it back, which they did, the board gliding
easily toward them, and closing with a loud snap.
"There! I did see it then," cried Scarlett.
"What?"
"That baluster. It half twisted round. Why, Fred, it's a hiding-place.
Here, let's open it again. Perhaps it's full of gold."
Fred was quite willing, for his curiosity was excited; so, seizing the
baluster with both hands, he gave it a twist. There was the sharp sound
as of a catch being set at liberty; the board moved, and was once more
thrust back.
"Now let me try," cried Scarlett, "so as to make sure."
The opening was closed again, the baluster twisted, and it was again
opened, the lads pausing before the dark cavity, across which the
coloured rays played over a bar of dancing motes.
"Seems to me," said Fred, "that we've discovered a secret. Does your
father know of it, do you think?"
"I feel sure he doesn't. I say, let's see if there's anything inside."
"Do you think we ought to?"
"I wouldn't, if I thought my father knew about it; but I don't believe
he does, so I shall try. Of course I shall tell him."
"Yes, of course," said Fred, whose curiosity pricked him on to action,
and who felt relieved by his companion's words. "But do you think it's
a secret drawer?"
"Yes, I'm sure it is, or it wouldn't be made like that."
"But perhaps they are all made this way."
This was a damper; for if the stairs were all made in this fashion,
there could be no secret.
"Let's try," said Scarlett; and together they turned and twisted with
all their might at every baluster from top to bottom, but without
result.
"Then it is a secret drawer," said Fred, in a low, husky voice.
"More like a coffin," said Scarlett.
"Ugh!"
"I hope no one's buried here."
"Oh, I say, don't talk like that," cried Fred. "It's too horrible."
"Well, it might be so. Some one been killed years ago, and put there."
"'Tisn't likely," said Fred. "But, if it is a secret place, we oughtn't
to let any of the servants know."
"I didn't think of that," replied Scarlett; and, drawing the oaken board
back, the spring was closed, and the boys went and looked out to see
that Nat Dee was busy over the garden beds; and further investigation
proved that the indoor servants were all in the other part of the house.
"They would go up the back-stairs if they wanted anything," said
Scarlett, as they returned to the place where the coloured light shone;
but it had already somewhat altered its position as Fred seized the
baluster, turned it, and the board lay loose.
"Now, then, what are we going to find?" cried Scarlett, as he thrust
back the board, and then recoiled a little and looked at his companion.
Fred looked at him, and both lads felt that their hearts were beating
fast.
"Not scared, are you, Fred!"
"No, I don't think so."
"Then you may have first try if you like. What do you say?"
"Nothing," replied Fred. "I feel as if I should like to, but all the
same I don't like. Let's try with a stick. There may be something
nasty there; perhaps rats."
"They wouldn't have stopped; but you're right. Go down and fetch a
stick."
"You will not try till I come back?" said Fred, doubtingly.
"No, I shall not try. Make haste."
Fred was not long running down to one corner of the hall, and obtaining
a stout ashen cudgel, which he handed to his companion, who, after a
moment's hesitation, thrust in the staff, and found that the opening was
about half as deep again as the height of the step; but though he tapped
the bottom, which seemed to be firm, and tried from side to side, there
was nothing solid within, nothing but a fine, impalpable dust, which
made its presence known, for both lads began to sneeze.
"I'm glad there are no bones in it," said Scarlett. "It was only meant
to put something in; made on purpose, I suppose. Just a long box:
nothing more, and--Halloa!"
"What have you found?"
"Nothing, only that it's all open at the back, and I can--yes, so I
can!--reach right back; yes, as far as the stick will go."
"That place wouldn't be made for nothing, Scar," cried Fred. "I know.
That's the way to somewhere."
"Nonsense!"
"I don't care; I know it is, and you see if--"
"Some one coming," whispered Scarlett, stooping down and dragging the
board toward him, when there was a sharp crack, and the stair was once
more firm, just as steps were heard coming along the corridor, and one
of the servant-maids passed along the gallery and entered a room at the
end.
"Wait a bit," whispered Scarlett, as soon as the maid had passed out of
hearing. "We'll get a bit of candle and lock the end door, and then
we'll see what this means; for, as you say, it must have been made for
something. But it can't be a way anywhere, or they would have made it
upright like a door."
"If they could," said Fred, thoughtfully. "Perhaps it was meant for
people to go through lying down."
"Well, wait a bit," said Scarlett, "and we'll see."
Unkind people say that girls have the bump of curiosity greatly
developed, far more so than boys. This is a vulgar error, for the
latter are quite as eager to know as their sisters, and from the moment
that the heavy oak board was replaced, Fred Forrester and Scar Markham
suffered from a fit of excitement which they could not allay. For, as
is usually the case, the person they wanted to go seemed determined to
stay. That person was the maid, who appeared to have found something
very important to do in the room at the end of the corridor; and it was
impossible to continue the examination till she had returned to the
servants' quarters.
Scar fetched a candlestick with a short piece of candle burning therein,
and shut it up in one of the great cupboards in the hall, so as to lose
no time.
Then they fidgeted up and down, listening intently the while; examined
some of the well-oiled, warlike weapons on the walls; crept upstairs and
along the corridor to listen at the bedroom door; ran down again, and
waited until the suspense seemed unbearable.
"I believe she has gone to bed and fallen asleep," whispered Fred.
"Nonsense! She dare not in that best room."
"Let's go out in the garden, then, and leave it till another day."
"And when will that be? Why, everybody will be about then. No; we must
examine the place to-day."
"What's that?" cried Fred, suddenly. "What's what?"
"I can smell fire."
"Well, they're cooking in the kitchen, I suppose."
"No, no; it's wood burning. Oh, Scar, look there!"
As Fred pointed toward the great closet in one corner of the hall, the
lads could see a thin blue film of vapour stealing out through the crack
at the top; and their first inclination was to run away and shout
"Fire!" But second thoughts are best.
"Come on," cried Scar; and he ran to the closet door, swung it open, and
the reason for the smoke was plain enough to see. The candle which they
had hidden there till the maid came down had been badly fastened in the
socket; had fallen over sidewise, probably when the door was closed, and
was now leaning up against the oak wainscot, guttering down rapidly, and
burning a long, channel-like hole in the woodwork, which was pouring
forth smoke, and would in a few minutes have become serious.
As it was, a little presence of mind was sufficient to avert the danger.
The candle was removed, and a handkerchief pressed against the
smouldering wainscot stifled the tiny fire, while the windows being
open, the pale blue smoke soon evaporated, and the candle was left
securely now as the lads re-entered the hall and carefully closed the
door once more.
"We should have looked nice if the old hall had been burned down," said
Fred.
"Oh, nonsense!" was the reply. "The place is too strong and full of oak
and stone. The hall couldn't be burned. Here, it's of no use waiting
any longer; she will not come down. Let's go out in the garden."
Fred glanced at the stairs, and followed his companion unwillingly; but
no sooner were they outside than Scar called his companion's attention
to the bedroom window, where the maid in question was leaning out,
watching Nat Lee, as he slowly did his work.
The girl caught sight of the two lads, drew back, and as they waited in
the great porch they had the satisfaction of hearing her go back, along
the corridor, closing the door at the end.
"Now, Fred," said Scarlett, excitedly, "we're safe at last." He dashed
up the stairs and slipped the bolt of the door through which the maid
had just passed, and returned to the top of the stairs. "Come along,"
he whispered. "Don't stand there. Bring the light."
Fred ran to the great closet and obtained the burning candle. The
baluster was twisted; there was the familiar _crick-crack_; the loose
step was thrust back, and the boys stood looking into the long box-like
opening.
"Wouldn't it be safer to fasten the front door too?" said Fred in a
whisper.
"Yes, and be quick," replied his companion in the same low, excited
manner.
Fred ran down, closed the great oaken door, ran a ponderous bolt into
its receptacle, and again joined his companion.
"Now then," whispered Scarlett, "what shall we do?"
As he spoke he knelt down and thrust the candle in as far as he could
reach, disclosing the fact that this was no rough back to the staircase,
but a smooth, carefully finished piece of work.
"Shall we try if we can creep in?" suggested Fred.
"I hardly like to; but if you will, I will."
"I will," replied Fred, laconically.
"But how are we to get in? It isn't deep enough to crawl."
"Tell you what," cried Fred, "I think the way is to lie down in it and
then roll along. There's plenty of room that way."
"Will you try?"
"If you'll come after me."
"Go on, then."
Fred hesitated a few moments, and then holding the candle as far forward
as he could he lay down, but instead of rolling, shuffled himself along
under the landing, finding plenty of room for his journey, and pushing
the light onward as he crept sidewise.
"Coming, Scar?" he whispered rather hoarsely.
"Yes, I'm coming. Mind the candle doesn't set fire to anything. What's
that?"
"Only a cobweb burning. The place is full of them; and--Oh, Scar!"
"What is it?"
"I can get my legs down here, and--yes, it's a narrow passage, and I can
stand upright."
Wondering more and more, Scarlett shuffled along to his companion, and
directly after they were standing together in a passage so strait that
they could barely pass along it as they stood square, their shoulders
nearly touching the sides.
"Yes, it's a passage, sure enough," said Scarlett, in an awe-stricken
whisper, as by the light Fred held he could see that the sides and
ceiling were of rough oak panelling, the floor being flagged with stone.
"Shall we go on?" whispered Fred.
"Yes. Why not? You're not afraid, are you?"
"Yes, a little. It's all so strange. Don't you feel a little--"
"Yes, just a little; but there can't be any thing to be afraid of. You
must go first."
Fred hesitated a few moments, and then went on for quite forty feet,
when the narrow passage turned off at a right angle for about another
twenty, when it again bent sharply round in the same direction as at
first.
"This cannot be a chimney?" whispered Scarlett, for the darkness and
heavy dusty air seemed to oppress them.
"No; they wouldn't make a chimney of wainscotting. Oh!"
"What have you found?"
"Look here; a lot of stone steps."
The boys stood looking at the old stone stairway, which seemed to invite
them to a higher region, but still as narrow as the passage.
The stones were dusty, and cobwebs hung in all directions; but
everything seemed as if it had been unused ever since the architect put
the finishing touches to the place.
The two boys looked at the stairway, Fred holding up the candle, and
Scar peering over his shoulder for some moments before the former spoke.
"Think we'd better go back now."
"Yes," said Scarlett; "only doesn't it seem cowardly?"