I am glad in this way to settle the Gray Lady story, which is still a

choice morsel in Casanova. I believe the moral deduced by the village

was that it is always unlucky to throw a stone at a black cat.

With Johnny Sweeny a cloud of dust down the road, and the dinner-hour

approaching, I hurried on with my investigations. Luckily, the roof

was flat, and I was able to go over every inch of it. But the result

was disappointing; no trap-door revealed itself, no glass window;

nothing but a couple of pipes two inches across, and standing perhaps

eighteen inches high and three feet apart, with a cap to prevent rain

from entering and raised to permit the passage of air. I picked up a

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pebble from the roof and dropped it down, listening with my ear at one

of the pipes. I could hear it strike on something with a sharp,

metallic sound, but it was impossible for me to tell how far it had

gone.

I gave up finally and went down the ladder again, getting in through

the ball-room window without being observed. I went back at once to

the trunk-room, and, sitting down on a box, I gave my mind, as

consistently as I could, to the problem before me. If the pipes in the

roof were ventilators to the secret room, and there was no trap-door

above, the entrance was probably in one of the two rooms between which

it lay--unless, indeed, the room had been built, and the opening then

closed with a brick and mortar wall.

The mantel fascinated me. Made of wood and carved, the more I looked

the more I wondered that I had not noticed before the absurdity of such

a mantel in such a place. It was covered with scrolls and panels, and

finally, by the merest accident, I pushed one of the panels to the

side. It moved easily, revealing a small brass knob.

It is not necessary to detail the fluctuations of hope and despair, and

not a little fear of what lay beyond, with which I twisted and turned

the knob. It moved, but nothing seemed to happen, and then I

discovered the trouble. I pushed the knob vigorously to one side, and

the whole mantel swung loose from the wall almost a foot, revealing a

cavernous space beyond.

I took a long breath, closed the door from the trunk-room into the

hall--thank Heaven, I did not lock it--and pulling the mantel-door wide

open, I stepped into the chimney-room. I had time to get a hazy view

of a small portable safe, a common wooden table and a chair--then the

mantel door swung to, and clicked behind me. I stood quite still for a

moment, in the darkness, unable to comprehend what had happened. Then

I turned and beat furiously at the door with my fists. It was closed

and locked again, and my fingers in the darkness slid over a smooth

wooden surface without a sign of a knob.




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