“How about them?” repeated the detective.
“I had them hung by my orders,” Stockbridge said. “They’re all right. Nothing but a strong wall behind. No need to bother about them.”
“Everything is important,” Drew suggested with a slight reproof in his voice. “Trifles may make for the answer to the riddle.”
“That Corot over there is no trifle. It cost me thirty-five thousand dollars in France!”
Drew lifted the lower edge of the painting from the wall. Dust fell. He pressed his face against the paper and looked behind the canvas. Letting the frame back he tried the same operation with the other paintings of size.
“No secret panel, or anything queer,” he said finally as he dusted his hands. “All’s well with the walls. Now the floor. How about trapdoors?”
“Impossible!” Stockbridge exclaimed. “I’m sure these rugs have been taken out and cleaned every time I go to my country-place. A trapdoor would be noticed!”
“I’m trying to find out,” suggested Drew glancing from the bottle to the purple face of the Magnate. “Please answer me if you want to get results. I’ve got to see that no one comes into this library for the next twelve hours. After that period of time—we can breathe easier.”
“Go on,” said Stockbridge feeling the thrust.
“This door,” Drew said. “The door to the hall. Can it be locked securely?”