He faced the conspirators with the hatchet in his hand. Mr. Skeel and the two sneaking lads shrank back. Not so the old hermit. With a snarl of rage he sprang forward at Tom.
“And so you come!” he cried. “You come after my treasure that I have sought so long! You would rob me! But you shall not. You have the paper, but I will get it from you! I will yet find my treasure!”
He made a leap for Tom. Instinctively our hero stepped back, and, as he did so he tripped, and would have fallen had he not leaped to the rear. He came up against a wall with a crash, and his hatchet flew from his hand and also struck the partition. Then something happened that caused them all to stare in amazement.
There was a grinding noise, a snapping sound, and a portion of the solid wall slid down and out of sight. A recess was thus opened, and when the dust of many years had cleared away they saw in the opening through the dim light, a small brass-bound box. For a moment they stared in amazement, and then the old hermit, with a scarcely human cry, leaped forward.
“The treasure! My treasure!” he cried. “I have found it at last! The treasure of the old mill! It has given up the secret it held so long!”
He reached into the compartment, drew the box to him, and fell across it fainting.
“Help him!” cried Tom. “The shock has been too much for him! Get water, somebody!”
“Get him out of there,” advised Jack. “The air is foul, and that may have caused him to faint.” Indeed a damp, unpleasant, musty odor filled the room from the secret hiding place of the box.
Dick and Bert dragged the old hermit from the box, and, making a pillow from some bags, they laid him out on the floor, while Tom forced through his lips some of the water left for the boy prisoners.