"Your heels made a very queer sound in it last night, Rupert," I said. "Only for pity's sake let somebody sit on the edge of it whilst it is open. I don't want you to be guillotined or smothered."
Harold perched himself in such a manner that the lid could not possibly fall, and dangled his legs against the side. It was a wonderful old chest, and we have it still in our house. It is made of black oak, is just five feet long, and about two feet wide.
"I know," said Rupert, presently, springing out of the box. "Where's the foot rule?"
"What's the joke now?" said Harold. "Are you going to measure it to see if there's room for the mysterious stranger to hide in?"
"That's it," exclaimed Rupert, disdaining to answer his brother's remark. "That's it. There's a false bottom to it. Look! it measures twenty inches inside and twenty-five outside. Let's break it open; we shall find a treasure, perhaps. No wonder my heels rattled when I got in last night."
"If it rattles," said Jack, sagaciously, "there isn't much inside. But let's see if we can open it."
They pushed and knocked in turns, but it was useless; they only grew tired and cross.
For once my studious life gave me an advantage over them. I remembered that in all the wonderful tales I had read of hidden chambers and secret drawers, there was no force required to open them. I reminded my cousins of this. "There's some little trick about it; some panel or hidden spring. You will be more likely to find it just when you least expect."
"Get along, you stupid old thing," said Harold, losing patience; "I'm sick of you." As he spoke he sprang from his perch and administered a kick to the obstinate box. Kathleen was holding the lid on the opposite side, and saw the bottom of the box move.
"Look, look," she cried, "it is opening!"