She groped her way over every inch of the wall, sometimes getting down on her knees, trying to persuade herself she really hoped to find a spring that would release something hidden—she didn’t care much what it was, but it must be hidden. However, after she had convinced herself that there was not a square inch of space she had not investigated, she rose to her feet reluctantly, feeling as though she had been cheated.
“Horrid old thing!” she murmured, dusting the cobwebs from her hands. “You look so nice and interesting and mysterious just on purpose to discourage promising young sleuths like me. I wish I hadn’t given you the satisfaction of bothering with you,” and she leaned against the wall in utter disgust.
Thus does fortune, in the very hour of our despair, place in our hands the thing for which we have been so hopelessly searching. Even as her elbow touched the panel behind her there came a sharp click and before Lucile’s startled gaze a small, square door opened slowly and deliberately, trembled, seemed to hesitate, and then came to a full stop, leaving its shallow interior exposed to view. 156
It was not till then, when she stood, open-mouthed and open-eyed, staring dumbly at this apparition, that she realized how little she had really expected it to happen.
“Well, I’m not dreaming, that’s one sure thing,” she murmured, approaching the little opening with extreme caution, while chills of alternate fear and excitement coursed all over her. “It seems so weird and ghostly to see that thing open all by itself, with nothing to help it along! Ghosts or not, I’m going to see what’s there,” and, strengthened by this resolve, she started to place her hand in the opening, but drew it back quickly with a frightened gasp.
“You’re a coward,” she accused herself, angrily. “Any one would think you had touched a snake. If you don’t hurry up, Jeanette will be here and spoil everything. I think she’s coming now,” and spurred on by the sound of approaching footsteps, she reached in and drew forth a long, rolled-up, legal-looking document, tied and sealed and covered with dust.
“I know it’s the will. I’m right, I’m right!” she cried, joyfully. “She is the Jeanette—but, oh, how the plot thickens——”
“What have you found?” said a soft voice behind her, and she turned to confront Jeanette, who was smiling and curious.
“Look!” said Lucile, waving the document wildly. “The door just opened—I don’t know how; my elbow must have touched a spring—and this thing was in it—the opening, I mean, not the door.”
“But what is it?” asked Jeanette, puzzled. “I have not the remembrance of having looked at it before.”