Clay started down the steps several times, but always drew back, for the least noise attracted King’s attention. The boy had no idea how the deputy had reached Yuma so soon after being put off the Rambler, or why he was digging in the old house, but all this was of less importance to him than the recovery of the paper said to be in a wallet in the old cupboard, which stood in plain sight from where he crouched, near the head of the stairs. At last King picked up his lantern and began looking in an other and more distant corner of the cellar.
Then the boys moved down the steps, gained the cupboard, and threw the door open. Three shelves were revealed, each one covered with a collection of miscellaneous articles and dust. There were cracked dishes, broken knives and forks, unknown things tied up in brown paper, and scores of such articles as a miserly man or woman might store away, not having the heart to discard them utterly. And there was the wallet!
Clay seized it eagerly and thrust it into a pocket. Then, as he reached up to make an investigation of an article on the top shelf, his foot slipped and he came near falling.
He would have fallen only that he clung to the shelf for support. But the shelf was not stable, for his body swayed back as he clung to it, and then he saw the entire interior of the cupboard swing out! The displacement of the woodwork revealed an opening in the west wall of the cellar, against which the cupboard stood.
Standing back of Clay, Tom saw King lift his lantern and move toward the stairway. If he came on discovery was certain, so the lad pushed his companion on into the dark opening and followed him.
At first Clay resented the action, for the place beyond the opening was dark, and damp gusts of wind sighed out of it, but at a whispered word from Tom he groped in and made way for his companion. The light of King’s lantern flashed almost in their faces as they turned to look out into the cellar again.
King was advancing toward them, so Clay reached out and softly drew the shelves toward the wall. There was a sharp snap, as of metal meeting metal, and then all was dark and still.
Clay brought out his electric and flashed it around the place. It was just a dungeon cut off from the cellar on the river side. The walls were of stone, and the ceiling was of iron. Through the wall on the west the murmur of the river could be heard.
“Looks to me like a miser’s vault,” Clay whispered, as he swung his electric around. “You say your Uncle David lived in this house once?”
“Yes, but that was a long time ago. He owned it at the time of his death, and, the people of Yuma say, used to visit the place once a year.”