Geoffrey lit his candle again, smiling with a certain grimness to himself. His next move, evolved during this last half hour of waiting and listening, had a simple ingenuity about it which pleased him. It meant another journey to the hall, after a precautionary pause, and the only apparatus required was a little piece of stamp paper. So at the end of a quarter of an hour he went downstairs again and examined the front door. Bolt and lock were undrawn: Mr. Francis's visit, then, had been to undo them, so that they should be found unlocked in the morning. This was on all fours with his private theory, and after a little consideration he secured the door again, partly for the safety of the house, partly for the sake of giving Mr. Francis something to think about, if he did leave the house that way. Then, standing on a chair and reaching up to his full height, he stuck the piece of stamp paper across the meeting of the door and jamb. Thus no one could open it without tearing the paper.
One thing more remained, and that for the sake of his own peace of mind. At risk of waking him he went to Harry's room and looked in. Harry was lying on his side fast asleep, and, shading his candle, Geoffrey waited till he heard two evenly-taken breaths. So far, then, all was well.
He slept but lightly and in broken snatches after the excitements of these hours, and it required no great deed of violence on his inclinations to enable him to get up early. In the cool, accustomed daylight the things of the night seemed to have more of the texture of dream than reality, but proof of them awaited him when he went to the front door, for the little piece of stamp paper was whole and unbroken, the door still locked and bolted. Then, to make doubly sure of the reliability of his experiment, he himself undid the door and opened it, and the stamp paper was torn in half. It was not by this exit, then, that Mr. Francis had left the house.
Harry made his appearance at an hour not unusually late, with a perfectly normal face and manner; no sound of last night's excursions had reached him. They talked in their usual desultory fashion, but Geoffrey's mind was preoccupied with the yet unsolved problem. He felt certain that Mr. Francis had some secret way in and out of the house, and it should be the next piece of business to discover what that was. Had he come in by some back door, or through an unbolted window, he would have told him so last night; but he had said he came through the front door, a thing impossible. But the subject of a secret door was easy to approach.
"I'm working all the morning, Geoff," said Harry; "what will you do with yourself? Poke and potter with a gun, if you like. We'll ride this afternoon."
"I'll poke and potter," said he, "but without a gun, I think. I feel yew-hedgy this morning."
"I thought you did," said Harry cordially, "but I have no idea what you mean."
"That is just a little slow of you," said Geoffrey. "It means that I shall look behind tapestry and tap panelling, and find a secret staircase."
"Do. I'll give you a shilling for every secret stair you find."
"Done. Anything extra for a secret door?"