“I’m glad there are no bones in it,” said Scarlett. “It was only meant to put something in; made on purpose, I suppose. Just a long box: nothing more, and— Halloa!”
“What have you found?”
“Nothing, only that it’s all open at the back, and I can—yes, so I can!—reach right back; yes, as far as the stick will go.”
“That place wouldn’t be made for nothing, Scar,” cried Fred. “I know. That’s the way to somewhere.”
“Nonsense!”
“I don’t care; I know it is, and you see if—”
“Some one coming,” whispered Scarlett, stooping down and dragging the board toward him, when there was a sharp crack, and the stair was once more firm, just as steps were heard coming along the corridor, and one of the servant-maids passed along the gallery and entered a room at the end.
“Wait a bit,” whispered Scarlett, as soon as the maid had passed out of hearing. “We’ll get a bit of candle and lock the end door, and then we’ll see what this means; for, as you say, it must have been made for something. But it can’t be a way anywhere, or they would have made it upright like a door.”
“If they could,” said Fred, thoughtfully. “Perhaps it was meant for people to go through lying down.”
“Well, wait a bit,” said Scarlett, “and we’ll see.”