As I stared through the darkness I became gradually aware of a ray of light along the ceiling. It did not come from the skylight, for there was no moon; and it ran horizontally along the ceiling, not down into the room. I got up and climbed on to the chair to investigate. Then I guessed. I had often noticed in a corner in the top of the wall (the corner farthest from the door) a little wooden door a foot or more square; it did not exactly fit the space in the wall and there was a thin aperture between the bottom of this little door and where the wall began. It was through this slit, not more than half an inch wide, that the strip of light came. I pulled at the handle and the little door opened.
Ten yards or so away, on a level with my eyes, I saw a square patch of brightness. In a flash, I understood; the light from which it came was in Uncle Simeon's attic. There was a hole in the corner of the top of the wall there too, the selfsame square space I had seen when peeping through the keyhole. What the holes were for I did not know; most likely to ventilate the room in between. The space mystery which had so often puzzled me was now explained. There was, in between the two attics which I knew, mine and Uncle Simeon's, another intermediate garret twice as large as either.
Instantly, I formed the resolution of squeezing my way through the hole, traversing the long dark attic in between, clambering up the other aperture through which the ray of light was streaming, and seeing—just what I was too excited to guess, except that I knew that he was there. The hole was about eighteen inches square; it was a tight squeeze, but thanks to his dieting I managed it. Clambering down the other side was awkward work; I held on to the wall part of the hole to prepare for a jump. I knew it was a longish drop; there was no convenient chair on this side, and as I had left my slippers behind so as to make as little noise as possible, I hoped the ground was not too hard. My feet alighted unevenly; the left foot on the corner of a beam stuck edgeways, the right on the level of the floor, which was of course lower by the width of the beam. I hurt my toe badly. The ray of light was only sufficient to show up very dimly the big garret in which I now stood; I could make out that the floor was traversed by long beams laid edgeways, parallel with the front of the house and thus leading from my attic to his. Along one of these I walked; for although it was awkwardly narrow, it was better for my stockinged feet than the floor, which I made out to be strewn with pieces of wood, stone and plaster. When I got to the other end I found that my objective was too high; my fingers only just reached the edge of the hole. By standing on tiptoe, however, and clutching for all I was worth I managed to lever myself up. Then I looked into the mysterious room.
What I saw was unforgettable. On a high cupboard flared a lamp, nearly on a level with the space through which I was looking. This explained how it was that the light carried right through to the corresponding hole in the wall of my attic. In the full glare of the lamp sat Simeon Greeber, leaning over a table covered with papers and documents, at which he peered. He gloated over them, fondled them, sometimes he laughed and breathed hard, and his eyes shone. Then he would stop, cock his head on one side for a moment, and listen anxiously. I watched him, fascinated. Round him, on the floor and the table, were many envelopes and papers. The wall was some inches thick; to see as much as I could I peered further in, so far indeed that if he stood up and looked my way he could hardly fail to see me. I noticed the big green box I had observed from the key-hole months before; a heavy door on hinges stood wide open; inside were more papers. His face, in the moments when he lifted it up, was of a greenish yellow hue in the lamp-light; and his eyes shone.
In my interest I had forgotten the awkwardness of my posture; supported by my elbows and wrists on the wall part of the hole, with my feet hanging in mid-air, my toes perhaps barely touching the wall. Once I lost my hold, and clutched convulsively so as not to fall. He heard the noise, lifted his face from the pile in which he was wallowing, and looked round anxiously. I had scared him.
"No, no, it can't be, it can't be," he whispered, endeavouring to assure himself of something.
He returned to his love. Now he rubbed his face sideways against the papers, gently, like a friendly cat against your leg.
I resolved to make a noise deliberately, keeping myself far enough back not to be seen, and to listen to what he might say.
In silence, at night, alone, a sigh is the most awful noise that can strike the human ear. I waited till his face was lifted again for a moment, held myself far enough back so as not to be seen easily, while still seeing him, and uttered a long-drawn agonized sigh. He started up with a cry. His cowardly face was a livid green.
"Brother, brother"—it was a terrified whine—"twelve years ago, twelve years ago."