“Stop a moment!” cried Fred, excitedly. “Look here; you can turn this thing half round. See!”
“Well, that’s only because it’s loose. They’re getting old and—”
Crick-crack!
Scarlett Markham started back, so quick and sudden was the sound, but only to resume his position on his knees before the oaken stair-tread, which again yielded to a thrust, and glided under the landing once more, leaving the opening the length and breadth of the great stair.
“Why, it’s like the lid of a sliding box, Scar,” cried Fred. “Now then, let’s pull it over once more. But look here, it won’t go any further.”
This was the case, for about an inch of the carved front was left for them to take hold of and draw it back, which they did, the board gliding easily toward them, and closing with a loud snap.
“There! I did see it then,” cried Scarlett.
“What?”
“That baluster. It half twisted round. Why, Fred, it’s a hiding-place. Here, let’s open it again. Perhaps it’s full of gold.”
Fred was quite willing, for his curiosity was excited; so, seizing the baluster with both hands, he gave it a twist. There was the sharp sound as of a catch being set at liberty; the board moved, and was once more thrust back.