"What is that on the other side?" I queried. "I am sure there is a break
in the wall over in that corner."
"I can not see," she gasped; certainly she was very much frightened.
"Are you going to cross the floor?"
"Yes; and if you do not wish to follow me, sit down on these steps--"
"No, I will go where you go; but this is very fearful. Why, what is the
matter?"
I had stepped aside in order to avoid a trail of footprints I saw
extending across the cellar floor.
"Come around this way," I urged. "If you will follow me I will keep you
from being too much frightened."
She did as I told her. Softly her steps fell in behind mine, and thus
with wary tread and peering eyes we made our way to the remote end,
where we found--or rather where I found--that the break which I had
noticed in the uniformity of the wall was occasioned by a pile of old
boxes, arranged so as to make steps up to a hole cut through the floor
above.
With a sharp movement I wheeled upon her.
"Do you see that?" I asked, pointing back over my shoulder.
"Steps," she cried, "going up into that part of the building
where--where--"
"Will you attempt them with me? Or will you stay here, in the darkness?"
"I--will--stay--here."
It was said with shortened breath; but she seemed less frightened than
when we started to cross the cellar. At all events a fine look of daring
had displaced the tremulous aspect which had so changed the character of
her countenance a few minutes before.
"I will make short work of it," I assured her as I hastily ran up the
steps. "Drop your face into your hands and you will not be conscious of
the darkness. Besides, I will talk to you all the time. There! I have
worked my way up through the hole. I have placed my lantern on the floor
above and I see-- What! are you coming?"
"Yes, I am coming."
Indeed, she was close beside me, maintaining her footing on the toppling
boxes by a grip on my disengaged arm.
"Can you see?" I asked. "Wait! let me pull you up; we might as well
stand on the floor as on these boxes."
Climbing into the room above, I offered her my hand, and in another
moment we stood together in the noisome precincts of that abominable
spot, with whose doleful story she had just made me acquainted.
A square of impenetrable gloom confronted me at the first glance--what
might not be the result of a second?
I turned to consult the appearance of the lady beside me before I took
this second look. Had she the strength to stand the ordeal? Was she as
much moved--or possibly more moved than myself? As a woman, and the
intimate friend of the Ocumpaughs, she should be. But I could not
perceive that she was. For some reason, once in view of this mysterious
place, she was strangely, inexplicably, impassibly calm.
"You can bear it?" I queried.
"I must--only end it quickly."
"I will," I replied, and I held out my lantern.
I am not a superstitious man, but instinctively I looked up before I
looked about me. I have no doubt that Mrs. Carew did the same. But no
stains were to be seen on those blackened boards now; or rather, they
were dark with one continuous stain; and next moment I was examining
with eager scrutiny the place itself.
Accustomed to the appearance of the cheerful and well-furnished room on
the other side of the partition, it was a shock to me (I will not say
what it was to her) to meet the bare decaying walls and mouldering
appurtenances of this dismal hole. True, we had just come from a
description of the place in all the neglect of its many years of
desolation, yet the smart finish of the open portion we had just left
poorly prepared us for what we here encountered.
But the first impression over--an impression which was to recur to me
many a night afterward in dreams--I remembered the nearer and more
imperative cause which had drawn us thither, and turning the light into
each and every corner, looked eagerly for what I so much dreaded to
find.
A couch to which some old cushions still clung stood against the farther
wall. Thank God! it was empty; so were all the corners of the room.
Nothing living and--nothing dead!
Turning quickly upon Mrs. Carew, I made haste to assure her that our
fears were quite unfounded.
But she was not even looking my way. Her eyes were on the ground, and
she seemed merely waiting--in some impatience, evidently, but yet merely
waiting--for me to finish and be gone.
This was certainly odd, for the place was calculated in itself to rouse
curiosity, especially in one who knew its story. A table, thick with
dust and blurred with dampness, still gave tokens of a bygone
festivity--among which a bottle and some glasses stood conspicuous.
Cards were there too, dingy and green with mould--some on the
table--some on the floor; while the open lid of a small desk pushed up
close to a book-case full of books, still held a rusty pen and the
remnants of what looked like the mouldering sheets of unused paper. As
for the rest--desolation, neglect, horror--but no _child_.
The relief was enormous.
"It is a dreadful place," I exclaimed; "but it might have been worse. Do
you want to see things nearer? Shall we cross the floor?"
"No, no. We have not found Gwendolen; let us go. Oh, let us go!"
A thrill of feeling had crept into her voice. Who could wonder? Yet I
was not ready to humor her very natural sensibilities by leaving quite
so abruptly. The floor interested me; the cushions of that old couch
interested me; the sawn boards surrounding the hole--indeed, many
things.
"We will go in a moment," I assured her; "but, first, cast your eyes
along the floor. Don't you see that some one has preceded us here; and
that not so very long ago? Some one with dainty feet and a skirt that
fell on the ground; in short, a woman and--a lady!"
"I don't see," she faltered, very much frightened; then quickly: "Show
me, show me."
I pointed out the marks in the heavy dust of the long neglected floor;
they were unmistakable.
"Oh!" she cried, "what it is to be a detective! But who could have been
here? Who would want to be here? I think it is horrible myself, and if I
were alone I should faint from terror and the close air."
"We will not remain much longer," I assured her, going straight to the
couch. "I do not like it either, but--"
"What have you found now?"
Her voice seemed to come from a great distance behind me. Was this on
account of the state of her nerves or mine? I am willing to think the
latter, for at that moment my eye took in two unexpected details. A dent
as of a child's head in one of the mangy sofa-pillows and a crushed bit
of colored sugar which must once have been a bit of choice
confectionery.
"Some one besides a lady has been here," I decided, pointing to the one
and bringing back the other. "See! this bit of candy is quite fresh. You
must acknowledge that. _This_ was not walled up years ago with the rest
of the things we see about us."
Her eyes stared at the sugary morsel I held out toward her in my open
palm. Then she made a sudden rush which took her to the side of the
couch.
[Illustration: "GWENDOLEN HERE?" SHE MOANED. "GWENDOLEN HERE?"]
"Gwendolen here?" she moaned. "Gwendolen here?"
"Yes," I began; "do not--"
But she had already left the spot and was backing toward the opening up
which we had come. As she met my eye she made a quick turn and plunged
below.
"I must have air," she gasped.
With a glance at the floor over which she had so rapidly passed, I
hastily followed her, smiling grimly to myself. Intentionally or
unintentionally, she had by this quick passage to and fro effectually
confused, if not entirely obliterated, those evidences of a former
intrusion which, with misguided judgment, I had just pointed out to her.
But recalling the still more perfect line of footprints left below to
which I had not called her attention, I felt that I could afford to
ignore the present mishap.
As I reached the cellar bottom I called to her, for she was already
half-way across.
"Did you notice where the boards had been sawed?" I asked. "The sawdust
is still on the floor, and it smells as fresh as if the saw had been at
work there yesterday."
"No doubt, no doubt," she answered back over her shoulder, still
hurrying on so that I had to run lest she should attempt the steps in
utter darkness.
When I reached the floor of the bungalow she was in the open door
panting. Watching her with one eye, I drew back the trap into place and
replaced the rug and the three nails I had loosened. Then I shut the
slide of the lantern and joined her where she stood.
"Do you feel better?" I asked. "It was a dismal quarter of an hour. But
it was not a lost one."
She drew the door to and locked it before she answered; then it was with
a question.
"What do you make of all this, Mr. Trevitt?"