And then the thing happened. Rock made a step forward and slipped on the mouldy straw. He had the lamp in his right hand, and with his left he thrust out against the wall to recover his balance. The slip landed him in a heavy plunging step with all his weight behind it. He came down sprawling, because the wall against which he thrust had given way.
Stephen snatched the lamp and held it up. Rock got to his knees and stared at the slanting hole in the wall, which had been a solid block of stone. Stephen leaned across him and pushed it. It swung in like a door. The chance of a heavy man coming down with all his weight upon a stone slab in the floor while he pitched against just the right block in the wall had released the mechanism which controlled the entrance to Ugo di Benevento’s hiding-place. Mr. Tampling from his vantage point could see the open doorway, narrow and low, and beyond it a platform of bricks, and steps that went down into the dark.
There was another of those delays whilst Rock went for the constable who had been left on guard in Candida’s room. The entrance there was no longer of any importance. It was this one which must be guarded now. The longest minutes of Stephen’s life dragged by. By the clock there were no more than four of them – in terms of heart-wrung suspense they seemed to have no end and no beginning. If there had been a second lamp, he could have gone on, but there was no second lamp.
The footsteps of the two men returning broke in upon the strain. The Chief Constable looked at the hole in the wall and decided to take no chances. He had no fancy for being trapped underground, and he told Rock to stay with the constable.
Stephen went in, and the light went with him down the steps. On the inner side the stone was faced with wood. Against this door Candida had beat in vain – on this small brick platform she had sunk down in despair. There was nothing to tell them these things.
They followed Stephen to the foot of the steps and along the passage which ran under the courtyard and tunnelled into the hill. The lamp which he held picked up an iron bar flung down across the path. He checked momentarily. The light fell on it. It showed a coating of rust – and something else – shreds of hair that had been soaked in blood. They all stood looking at it.
For a moment there was just one picture in every mind – Miss Cara dead at the foot of the stairs in her own house. But not killed by any fall from those stairs – struck down here by this rusty bar in this strange place. Stephen stepped over the bar and threw the light ahead.
Mr. Tampling’s excitement had reached a dizzying height. He now saw what Candida had seen, but far more brightly illumined – the cave or niche which had closed the passage, the iron-bound box that filled it, the raised lid and the Treasure within. The light dazzled on the golden dish, the candlesticks, the stones of a fabulous necklace. It struck fire from the stones – blood-red fire. And then -
He saw the skeleton hand that had clutched at the Treasure and fallen upon death – the bones and the rags which were all that were left of Alan Thompson. And nearer, right across their path, Candida Sayle, her face hidden against the arm thrown out to save herself as she fell.
The lamp was thrust on Major Warrender, and Stephen was on his knees, saying her name.
‘Candida – Candida – Candida!’
She came back to the sound of his voice, and she was never to forget it. After the darkness that had been like death, after the burial of hope and life itself, to wake with his arms about her and his voice calling her name -
She opened her eyes, and the place was light. Stephen was holding her as if he would never let her go. She said,
‘I found the treasure – don’t touch it – it killed poor Alan – ’
Chapter Forty-one
Joseph came into the drawing-room, his dark skin yellow and damp with sweat. Miss Olivia was working at her embroidery. She looked up and said sharply,
‘What is the matter?’
‘They are down in the cellar – they have found the opening!’
‘Impossible!’
His voice grated.
‘I tell you they have found it! The Inspector came up – he went to the bedroom and fetched the constable. I followed them to the top of the cellar stairs. From there I can see that the secret door is open and that they are all there. The Inspector and the young man stay, and the others go down into the passage. You know what they will find. What do we do – what do we say?’
She looked at him directly.
‘Do? Say? We have only to be perfectly clear and firm, and to be very much surprised. There are some passages in the house which have always been a family secret, but we do not know of any others – if there is one in the cellar, we know nothing about it. There have been stories about a treasure, but I have never believed them. If there was anyone so foolish as to go looking for it, he did so at his own risk. If he met with a fatal accident, it was without any knowledge or responsibility of mine. And if Miss Sayle was foolish enough to follow his example, I cannot hold myself responsible for that.’
‘She will say – ’
‘She can say anything she likes, and she can prove nothing at all. She will say she drank a glass of milk and after that she remembers nothing. And the answer is that she was walking in her sleep. It is either that, or she has made up the whole story. She has found out something about the passages – she has been working on the family papers, and she takes it into her head to explore at night when everybody is asleep. A much more likely story than that she was drugged and shut up there in the dark to die.’
He said in an approving voice,
‘It is a good story – if they will believe it.’ Then, after a pause, ‘Anna is the one I am afraid of.’
‘She is a fool – and she knows nothing.’
He said in what was almost a pettish voice,
‘She looks at me as if – as if – ’
‘As if what?’
‘As if she found me – horrible!’
Her glance just touched him scornfully.
‘Perhaps she does – perhaps – ’ She spoke suddenly and vehemently. ‘How did my sister die?’
He stood his ground.
‘I have told you. She walked in her sleep. I followed her in case she should come to harm. She was wringing her hands and saying, “I can’t find him – I can’t find him!” She went down into the cellar and opened the secret door. I could not let her down into such a place alone – I went after her. When she came to where the Treasure is she saw Mr. Alan lying there, and she cried out. His hand was on the necklace, and she went to take hold of it. The lid of the chest came down and struck her, and she died. I pushed it up, and I pulled her away, but she was dead. I came and told you, and we carried her to where she was found. You know all this.’ There was a sense of unbearable strain. They were too much intent upon one another to have been aware that the door behind the tall black lacquer screen had opened. There was no design in that soft opening. It was not Miss Silver’s wont to enter or leave a room with any jarring sound, but when she heard Miss Olivia say, ‘How did my sister die?’ she came no more than one step inside the door and put up a hand to check the advance of Mr. Tampling, who was immediately behind her. They stood there upon the thresh-hold, listening, and heard Joseph tell his tale, and when he had said, ‘You know all this,’ they heard Miss Olivia answer him. The words came tense with feeling.
‘I know what you have told me.’
Joseph said, ‘I have told you the truth.’
Within the room, and beyond their sight, Miss Olivia let the embroidery-frame drop upon her knee. The hand which held the needle came down too, the thread of scarlet silk trailing. She said,