“Let me see,” Hilary answered.
He peered close to the wall and groped along it with his fingers. There seemed to be no door there. It was panelling, as at the sides. High up in the centre of it was a trophy of a horned beast’s head: it looked like a giant goat’s head; something odd had been done to it. The smell of sweet leather was much stronger at that end of the hall. There were figures painted on the panels, at both sides of the trophy. The paint was trickling down the wall.
“Someone has been burning carib leaf,” Hilary whispered.
“There must be a door,” Sard whispered back. “Only it is let in flush with the panels. We must strike a light.”
“Go ahead then,” Hilary muttered.
At that instant there came a little suck of air, Sard’s propping gave way before it, the hall door shut to with a crash.
“I say, you are a pearl of a door-fastener,” Hilary said.
“Hush! Watch for a light.”
They watched; but no light showed and no sound came.
“Nobody stirring,” Sard said; “the breeze is rising. We must leave the door. Look there.”