“This day’s events have upset me more than you can imagine, child,” said he, passing his hand through his hair wearily. “That vixen Sarah has always seemed honest—and yet I don’t know what to believe.”
“And, you know, the portmanteau I found in the cellar,” I whispered timidly.
Mr. Rayner started.
“Good Heaven, I had forgotten that! Or rather I had dismissed it from my mind as a fancy brought about by the excitement of Sarah’s accident, and hastily connected in your mind with your view of poor old Tom Parkes carrying a box across the lawn. Where are the store-room keys, child?” asked he excitedly. “We must go at once to the cellar, and— Heaven help us if what I took for your fancy should prove to be the truth!”
I tremblingly produced the keys, which I carried about with me; and, much against my will, I accompanied Mr. Rayner into the left wing. He took the keys from me; but he was so very excited that he could not find the right one to fit into the door, and I opened it for him. We crossed the store-room. There lay the black bag on one side of the trap-door, where I had put it down on catching sight of the little ring in the floor. I put my finger through this and raised it again, not without a shudder at the remembrance of my last visit, and Mr. Rayner went down hastily, while I held the candle for him to see by.
“No, my child, I see nothing,” said he, as he peered about.
“Look through the ladder; it is behind there,” said I.
Mr. Rayner looked through it, then looked round it, stretched his arm out, and again raised his face to mine, this time however with a look of unutterable relief.
“Thank Heaven, it was your fancy, child!” said he. “There is nothing there.”
“Not a deal table?” I gasped.