The trap-door was being raised from below. A hand and arm came into view,—the propelling power.
"Is that you, de Bosky?" called out Trotter, in a penetrating whisper.
Abruptly the trap flew wide open and dropped back on the scantlings with a bang.
The head and shoulders of a man,—a bald-headed man, at that,—rose quickly above the ledge, and an instant later a lighted lantern followed.
"Oh, dear!" murmured Lady Jane, aghast. "It—it isn't Mr. de Bosky, Eric. It's that man."
"I beg your pardon, Lord Temple," said Mr. Alfred Chambers, setting the lantern down in order to brush the dust off of his hands. "Are you there?"
"What is the meaning of this, sir?" demanded the young man on the beam, blinking rapidly in the unaccustomed glare.
Mr. Chambers rested his elbows on the ledge. The light of the lantern shone full on his face, revealing the slow but sure growth of a joyous grin.
"Permit me to introduce myself, your lordship. Mr. Alfred Chambers, of—"
"I know,—I know!" broke in the other impatiently. "What the devil do you want?"