“What do you think you’re going to find out? The Dangerfield Secret?”
“If this turns up trump,” said Westenhanger, “you and I will know more about the Dangerfield Secret than the Dangerfields themselves do. I’m pretty sure of that, at any rate. But there’s an ‘if’ with a capital ‘I’ in it yet; so don’t expect too much. It’s quite on the cards that we’re on a wild-goose chase with a mare’s nest at the end of it.”
“Well, do let’s get the things you need and start as soon as we can.”
Westenhanger had little difficulty in getting what he wanted. They came back to the Corinthian’s Room and, with precautions against being surprised, set to work to clear the oil-holes of the accumulated dirt. After that, Westenhanger, with an oil-can, liberally dosed each channel.
“There,” he said. “We’ll need to give the stuff time to ooze into the bearings. Let’s go and fill in the time with something else.”
They played tennis for an hour and then came back to the Corinthian’s Room. Westenhanger had refused to explain his purpose, and the girl was on tenterhooks to see what he meant to do. Westenhanger took out his paper, opened the cupboard containing the iron chessmen, and began methodically to set them up in the positions marked in the Corinthian’s diagram. In a few minutes he had the scheme completed.
“Now we come to the final stage,” he said. “We’ll play over the four knight’s moves. I think that’s the key to the thing.”
With considerable difficulty he shifted the white knight from square to square.
“One—Two—Three. Now for it—four!”
The heavy iron figure dropped into its final position—and nothing happened! Westenhanger stared at the board in unconcealed discomfiture, and Eileen’s face showed her disappointment.