“It’s the tramps,” he added hastily. “We are greatly troubled by them. Scanlon,” with a glance at the big man, “has seen something of their work.”
Taking one of the lights, Ashton-Kirk went over the place once more. This time he gave much attention to the floor, and showed considerable curiosity as to the walls.
“You see,” said he, laughingly, but not once relaxing his attention, “it is possible that the Count in his building of this place might have contrived the secret passage which legend tells us went with such buildings.”
“No,” said Kretz. “There is a plan of the house. All is marked there. Nothing is secret.”
Much to Scanlon’s surprise, the crime specialist seemed to take this as final.
“It is a thing which should be brought to the attention of the police,” suggested Ashton-Kirk. “Prowlers who have secret means of entering cellars can’t be comfortable neighbours.”
“It might come to that in the end,” said Campe as they climbed the stone steps. He had a smile upon his lips, a wan hopeless sort of thing, and in the lantern light his eyes looked sunken. “But the police are sometimes very troublesome themselves.”
They reached the upper hall, and Ashton-Kirk looked at his watch and a time-table.
“I have thirty minutes to reach the station,” said he.
“I had hoped,” said Campe, “to have you for luncheon.”