Mike did as told, and stepped into the room, I after him. Oakes held the cellar door open, and I, happening to look at him, saw that he was watching Mike as a cat watches a mouse. He had dropped a match at the moment, and, with his eye still on the gardener, stooped to pick it up. His hand made a swift, double movement, he had the match and something else besides; but Mike had not observed, and I, of course, said nothing.
The room was low and without windows, but the air was remarkably clean and fresh. "Plenty of ventilation in here," said I.
"Yes, and blood too," said the gardener.
Sure enough, the floor was spattered with it.
"Mine, I guess," said Oakes. "Moore, kindly fetch a lamp from upstairs. Ask Annie for one."
Moore went, and soon brought down a small lantern. We could hear Cook's voice at the head of the stairs; also his wife's and Annie's. It was the long-expected hunt that no one had ever before made, and which might clear up the mystery at any time.
By the better light we saw evidences of the struggle that had taken place—a strip of Oakes's coat, and a piece of glazed red paper an inch or so long, and perhaps half as broad—white on one side, red on the other.
"Piece of a mask," said I; and Oakes placed it in his pocket.
Dr. Moore walked to the east side of the room, where he and I saw a door in the wall, and some plastering on the floor under it. Mike was busy examining a heap of rubbish at the other end. His conduct had been most exemplary. Moore turned the light on the door, and we three observed it for a moment. Mike had not seen it distinctly, if at all.
"Moore, come here," said the detective, retreating; and the Doctor followed with the light.