"It's been
going through my mind for the last few minutes that no chimney flue
runs up this side of the house!" she said.
Bailey stared. "Then why the fireplace?"
"That's what I'm going to find out!" said the spinster grimly. She
started to rap the mantel, testing it for secret springs.
"Jack! Jack!" It was Dale's voice, low and cautious, coming from
the landing of the stairs.
Bailey stepped to the door of the trunk room.
"Come in," he called in reply. "And shut the door behind you."
Dale entered, turning the key in the lock behind her.
"Where are the others?"
"They're still searching the house. There's no sign of anybody."
"They haven't found--Mr. Anderson?"
Dale shook her head. "Not yet."
She turned toward her aunt. Miss Cornelia had begun to enjoy
herself once more.
Rapping on the mantelpiece, poking and pressing various corners and
sections of the mantel itself, she remembered all the detective
stories she had ever read and thought, with a sniff of scorn, that
she could better them. There were always sliding panels and hidden
drawers in detective stories and the detective discovered them by
rapping just as she was doing, and listening for a hollow sound in
answer. She rapped on the wall above the mantel--exactly--there
was the hollow echo she wanted.
"Hollow as Lizzie's head!" she said triumphantly. The fireplace
was obviously not what it seemed, there must be a space behind it
unaccounted for in the building plans.
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