When they had obeyed him he swung the door round on its hinges until it was almost closed, and then looked through the remaining opening.
“Say a few words in an ordinary tone, Inspector. A string of addresses or something of that sort.”
“William Jones, Park Place, Amersley Royal,” began the Inspector, obediently; “Henry Blenkinsop, 18 Skeening Road, Hinchley; John Orran Gordon, 88 Bolsover Lane …”
“That will be enough, thanks. I can hear you quite well. Now lower your voice a trifle and say ‘Muramasa,’ ‘Japanese,’ and ‘sword,’ please. And mix them into the middle of some more addresses.”
The Inspector’s tone as he spoke showed plainly that he was a trifle bewildered by his instructions.
“Fred Hall, Muramasa, Endelmere; Harry Bell, 15 Elm Japanese Avenue, Stonyton; J. Hicky, sword, The Cottage, Apperley … Will that do?”
“Quite well, Inspector. Many thanks. Think I’m mad? All I wanted was to find out how much a man in this position could see and hear. Contributions to the pool. First, I can see the case where the Muramasa sword used to lie. Second, I can hear quite plainly what you’re saying. The slight echo in the room doesn’t hinder that.”
He swung the door open and came into the museum.
“Now, Cecil,” he said—and the Inspector noticed that all sign of lightness had gone out of his tone, “you know that Maurice disappeared rather mysteriously from this room? He was in it with Foss; there was a man at the door; Foss was murdered in that bay over there; and Maurice didn’t leave the room by the door. How did he leave?”
“How should I know?” demanded Cecil, sullenly. “You’d better ask him when he turns up again. I’m not Maurice’s nursemaid.”
Sir Clinton’s eyes grew hard.
“I’ll put it plainer for you. I’ve reason to believe that there’s an entrance to a secret passage somewhere in that bay beyond the safe. It’s the only way in which Maurice could have left this room. You’ll have to show it to us.”
“Indeed!” Cecil’s voice betrayed nothing but contempt for the suggestion.
“It’s for your own benefit that I make the proposal,” Sir Clinton pointed out. “Refuse if you like. But if you do I’ve a search-warrant in my pocket and I mean to find that entrance even if I have to root out most of the panelling and gut the room. You won’t avert the discovery by this attitude of yours. You’ll merely make the whole business public. It would be far more sensible to recognize the inevitable and show us the place yourself. I don’t want to damage things any more than is necessary. But if I’m put to it I’ll be thorough, I warn you.”
Cecil favoured the Chief Constable with an angry look; but the expression on Sir Clinton’s face convinced him that it was useless to offer any further opposition.
“Very well,” he snarled. “I’ll open the thing, since I must.”
Sir Clinton took no notice of his anger.
“So long as you open it the rest doesn’t matter. I’ve no desire to pry into things that don’t concern me. I don’t wish to know how the panel opens. Inspector, I think we’ll turn our backs while Mr. Chacewater works the mechanism.”
They faced about. Cecil took a few steps into the bay. There was a sharp snap; and when they turned round again a door gaped in the panelling at the end of the room.
“Quite so,” said Sir Clinton. “Most ingenious.”
His voice had regained its normal easy tone; and now he seemed anxious to smooth over the ill-feeling which had come to so acute a pitch in the last few minutes.
“Will you go first, Cecil, and show us the way? I expect it’s difficult for a stranger. I’ve brought an electric torch. Here, you’d better take it.”
Now that he had failed in his attempt, Cecil seemed to recover his temper again. He took the torch from the Chief Constable and, pressing the spring to light it, stepped through the open panel.
“I think we’ll lock the museum door before we go down,” Sir Clinton suggested. “There’s no need to expose this entrance to anyone who happens to come in.”
He walked across the museum, turned the key in the lock, and then rejoined his companions.
“Now, Cecil, if you please.”
Cecil Chacewater led the way; Sir Clinton motioned to the Inspector to follow him, and brought up the rear himself.
“Look out, here,” Cecil warned them. “There’s a flight of steps almost at once.”
They made their way down a spiral staircase which seemed to lead deep into the foundations of Ravensthorpe. At last it came to an end, and a narrow tunnel gaped before them.
“Nothing here, you see,” Cecil pointed out, flashing the torch in various directions. “This passage is the only outlet.”
He led the way into the tunnel, followed by the Inspector. Sir Clinton lagged behind them for a moment or two, and then showed no signs of haste, so that they had to pause in order to let him catch up.
The tunnel led them in a straight line for a time, then bent in a fresh direction.
“It’s getting narrower,” the Inspector pointed out.
“It gets narrower still before you’re done with it,” Cecil vouchsafed in reply.
As the passage turned again Sir Clinton halted.
“I’d like to have a look at these walls,” he said.
Cecil turned back and threw the light of the torch over the sides and roof of the tunnel.
“It’s very old masonry,” he pointed out.
Sir Clinton nodded.
“This is a bit of old Ravensthorpe, I suppose?”
“It’s older than the modern parts of the building,” Cecil agreed. He seemed to have overcome his ill-humour and to be making the best of things.
“Let’s push on, then,” Sir Clinton suggested. “I’ve seen all I wanted to see, thanks.”
As they proceeded, the tunnel walls drew nearer together and the roof grew lower. Before long the passage was barely large enough to let them walk along it without brushing the stones on either side.
“Wait a moment,” Sir Clinton suggested, as they reached a
