But Sinclair’s search for the old mason in Leicester was absolutely unsuccessful. He learned that Martin Campbell had died many years ago, and had left no direct descendants. A cousin of the old mason told Sinclair all this, and said, too, that there were no books or papers or accounts of the dead man left in existence.
So Sinclair returned home, disappointed but not entirely discouraged.
“We’ll find it yet,” he said to Patty. “We have proof of a hiding-place, now we must discover it.”
“We will!” declared Patty. “But it’s so exasperating not to know whether the old mason built that ‘pocket’ indoors or out.”
“Out, I think,” said Sinclair. “It’s probably a sunken bin or vault of brick, made water-tight, and carefully concealed.”
“Yes, it’s certainly carefully concealed,” Patty agreed.
Sinclair was entitled to a fortnight’s vacation from his law studies, and he arranged to take it at this time. For now that the interest was revived, all were eager to make search all the time.
“Let’s be systematic about it,” said Bob, “and divide the estate up into sections. Then let’s examine each section in turn.”
This sounded well, but it was weary work. In the wooded land, especially, it was hopeless to look for any indicatory mark beneath the undergrowth of forty years. But each morning the four young people started out with renewed determination to keep at it, at any rate.
On rainy days they searched about the house. Having found one secret panel, they hoped for more, and the boys went about tapping the walls or carved woodwork here and there, listening for a hollow sound.