The others watched him as he descended and at last reached the bottom.
“Nothing at all,” he called up. “I’m coming back.”
“Just an old dried up well,” he reported, as he reached them again. “Must ’a’ dried up long ago. No water in it for years, most likely. But there’s nothin’ else down there, neither. No body, nor no clues of any sort. Whatever became of that girl, she ain’t down that well.”
All parts of the cellar were subjected to the same thorough search.
Landon was amazed at the quickness and efficiency shown by these men whom he had thought rather stupid at first.
Cupboards were poked into to their furthest corners; bins were raked; boxes opened, and Bill even climbed up to scan a swinging shelf that hung above his head.
“How about secret passages?” Potter asked, when they had exhausted all obvious hiding places.
“I been thinkin’ about that,” Bill returned, musingly; “but, so far, I can’t see where there could be any. This isn’t the sort of house that has ’em, either. It’s straightforward architecture,—that’s what it is,—straightforward.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Landon, interested in this strange man who looked so ignorant, yet was in some ways so well informed.
“Well, you see, there’s no unexpected juts or jambs. Everything’s four-square, mostly. You can see where the rooms above are,—you can see where the closets and stairs fit in and all that. There’s no concealed territory like,—no real chance for a secret passage,—at least not so far’s I see.”