“Listen,” whispered the captain. “It's plainer here than anywhere else, ain't it?”
“Yes. Yes, I think it is. But where does it come from?”
“Somewhere overhead, seems to me. Give me that chair.”
Cautiously and silently he placed the chair close to the wall, stood upon it, and, with his ear against the wallpaper, moved his head backward and forward and up and down. Then he stopped moving and reaching up felt along the wall with his hands.
“I've got it,” he whispered. “Here's the place.”
His fingers described a circle on the wall. He tapped gently in the middle of the circle.
“Hark!” he said. “All solid out here, but here—hollow as a drum. It's—it's a stovepipe hole, that's what 'tis. There was a stove here one time or 'nother and the pipe hole was papered over.”
“But—but what of it?” whispered Thankful. “I don't care about stovepipe holes. It's that dreadful noise I want to locate. I hear it now, just as plain as ever.”
“Where could a stovepipe go to from here?” mused the captain. “Not into the kitchen; the kitchen chimney's way over t'other side. Maybe there was a chimney here afore the house was moved.”
“But the snoring?” faltered Emily. “Don't you hear it?”