“Who’s in the kitchen?”
“Only the scullery-maid. T’others are all gone out.”
“Then let’s go and have a look,” cried Arthur. “I want to be a man. I’m sick of being a mouse.”
The butler seemed disposed to sit still, but the energy of his young companion stirred him to action, and he placed the keys in his pocket and stood hesitating.
“Go and see first what that gal’s doing,” he whispered, “while I make sure the old woman’s up in her room.”
The footman nodded, and both went their ways, to meet again with a nod indicating that all was right, and then the butler led on along one of the passages of the extensive basement to where another struck off at right angles, ending in an ordinary stout oak-grained door. This readily yielded to the key the butler brought, and after lighting a bit of candle the pair stepped into a little stone-walled room of about ten feet square, with a closely-fitting drab-painted door on their right, standing flush with the iron frame which filled up the centre.
“That’s a tight one, Orthur, lad,” said the butler.
“Yes, to them as has no key,” said the footman, quietly, after going down on one knee and examining the key-hole by holding the loose cover on one side. “I’m a-going to have a key to fit that lock, old man, afore long.”
“You are, my boy?”
“I am, guv’nor. You and I’s got together and we’ve got to stick together and make our fortunes. There’s horses and carriages and plate chests and cellars o’ wine for them as likes to be enterprising, and we’re enterprising now.”