"I draw the line at cellars," objected Applebee.
"We will go there," said Lambert curtly, and the constable was compelled to accompany them.
"There is a trap door leading to the cellar," said Dick, hopelessly, when they reached the kitchen, for he saw that it had not been disturbed since he had last lifted it himself. Lambert raised it, and let himself down; ascending, he shook the dust from his clothes.
"A regular rat hole," he said. "There's no one there."
"Nor anywhere else," said Applebee, sulkily. "We're only wasting time. Let's get to the station."
Caught, as it were, in a trap of his own preparing, Dick conveyed to Lambert, in one of those secret glances which to an intelligent mind are as good as speech, an entreaty for a private word.
"Remain outside a minute, Applebee," said Lambert, as they stood in the passage leading to the street door. "There's something I wish to ask Mr. Remington."
Applebee would have refused if he dared, but Lambert's standing in the force was too high, and the part he had played in the mystery too conspicuous, for him to venture opposition, so, with a dissatisfied mind and a discontented face, he walked slowly forward, and waited in the Square by the street door.
"This is a bad business, Dick," said Lambert, becoming familiar. His kind tone brought tears into the young man's eyes.
"It is even worse than it appears," said Dick, "as you will discover when we reach the station. You might take the handcuffs off, Mr. Lambert. I'll go quietly." Lambert instantly released him. "Thank you. Handle that cane gently, and carry it upright, if you don't care to entrust me with it. You will know why soon. It is worth more than its weight in gold. Do you think I have been lying?" Lambert stroked his chin. "It is an unfair question, perhaps. Ill answer it myself. As I hope for mercy from our heavenly Judge I have spoken the truth."