“Certainly, my boy. We mustn’t leave a stone unturned.”
“A rose unturned, you mean. Clair, what shall we ruthlessly tear it away with? I hate to take a chisel to this beautiful old door.”
“Try a corkscrew,” said Mabel.
“You mean a gimlet,” said Bob. “That’s a good idea.”
Fetching a gimlet, he bored a hole right in the centre of the carved blossom, but though it turned and creaked a little it wouldn’t come out.
“It must come,” said Sinclair. “It turns, so that proves it’s meant to be movable. It probably has some hinge or spring that is rusted, and so it doesn’t work as it ought to. We’ll have to take hammer and chisel; shall we, Grandy?”
The boys were deferential to Mrs. Cromarty, for they well knew that she was tired of having the old house torn up to no avail. But surely this was an important development.
“Yes, indeed, boys. If your uncle’s words mean anything, they mean that it must be ruthlessly torn away, if removed at all.”
For quite ten minutes the two boys worked away with their tools, endeavouring to mar the carving as little as might be, but resolved to succeed in their undertaking. At last the wooden rose fell out in their hands, leaving a round opening.
Peering in, Sinclair saw a small iron knob, which seemed to be part of a rusty spring.