On the last night before the trek Mr. Blakeney was with the two lads in their bedroom, having a chat with them, and helping them to complete their packings. They talked on many subjects, including the treasure hunt which lay before them. Then they bade one another good night, and Mr. Blakeney retired to his own room.
Next morning early Guy knocked at his door and aroused him. Guy was always the early bird of the party: earlier even than his uncle, who was always out and about before six.
"Uncle," he said, "I want you to come and look at something in our room."
"All right, Guy," was the reply. "What is it?"
"Something rather odd, I think," returned Guy, as they went down the passage. They entered the double-bedded room where the cousins slept, and Guy took his uncle across to the wall against which Guy's bed stood.
"Look at this, uncle," he said, kneeling on his bed and pointing to the wall. "What do you make of it?"
The wall was in fact nothing more than a fairly stout partition of varnished wood. Mr. Blakeney knelt beside Guy, and looked closely at the spot where the lad's finger rested. He saw at once that a neat hole had been bored through the partition from the other side, and a hollow left big enough to thrust the point of his little finger into.
"Well, what do you think it means, Guy?" he asked, screwing up his mouth with an odd expression.
"I think, uncle, it means," returned Guy, "that that fellow in the next room has been spying on us for some reason or other."
"Who has the next room?" queried Mr. Blakeney, manifestly with some anxiety.