“I believe I’ve got it!” he exclaimed. “Didn’t Mr. Dangerfield tell us that night, something about the pieces being found in position on that Chess-board?”
Eileen recalled the scene.
“Yes,” she confirmed. “He said that after the duel they found the document on his desk and the pieces in the same order on that big Chess-board. You remember he suggested that it might be the end of the game he and his friend had been playing.”
Westenhanger’s features showed the elation he felt.
“Well, I believe we’ve stumbled right on the solution. Our luck’s holding, after all; for it was pure luck that I happened to look at that Chess-board as we passed. I’d forgotten about the thing—or at least I hadn’t thought about it in that connection. But when my eye caught the board I remembered something else.”
He knelt down and scrutinised the corners of one or two squares.
“Yes, they are oil-holes right enough. I was sure they were, the first time I saw them, but I couldn’t make out what they were there for. They’re all stopped up with dirt. We’ll need a fine wire and a bottle of oil. Probably the whole affair’s rusted up with age; for it can’t have been working for years and years.”
Eileen’s eyes shone with excitement.
“You really think you’ve got to the bottom of it? Let’s go at once and get the oil and the wire and whatever else you need. I do want to see you clear the thing up. This last bit sounds exciting.”
“It may be all wrong, you know,” Westenhanger warned her. “Don’t imagine we’re out of the wood yet.”