"Probably used it in another mystery," chuckled Nikka. "What's the other paper, Hugh?"
"It's the real thing! Great Jupiter, see what Toutou missed!"
And he spread the second paper on his knee. It was short and to the point:
"To Hymne thatte hath Witte to rede Mye riddel. Presse atte ye One time ye Sfinxes headde and ye Monkes bellie. So wil ye Flaggin drop in ye Dexter side of ye Harth. Thatte whych you Seke you shal Discovour in yts proper Place.
"JANE CHESBY."
I flashed the electric torch on the mantle-piece. "Ye Sfinxes headde" was in the very center of the row of Turks' heads, and veiled women that was sculptured along the edge of the stone mantle-shelf. "Ye Monkes bellie" was the bit of carving that protruded from the center of the bibulous group that had upheld the panel bearing Lady Jane's verse.
"I've pressed both of those more than once," I protested.
"But not both at once," answered Nikka.
He bounded up, and drove his two hands, palm out, against the projections. There was a muffled thud in the fireplace. I sank on my knees, and trained the electric torch inside. On the "dexter," or right-hand side, in the rear, yawned a hole some two feet square.
I crawled through the ashes, and thrust the torch over the rim. There was a sharp drop of three or four feet, and then the beginning of a flight of stairs, heavily carpeted with dust. A damp, earthy odor smote my nostrils. The others crawled in beside me. Even Watkins pulled his nightshirt around him and stuck his head in as far as he could get.