Samson withdrew, muttering angrily as he did so.
When he left the room, Rowton rose from his chair by the fire, walked across the apartment and locked the door. Then stepping up to the uncarpeted portion of the room, he touched a secret spring, which immediately revealed a trap-door. There was a ladder beneath the door which led down into a cellar. Rowton gazed gloomily down for a moment.
He then let the trap door fall into its place, and a moment or two later put out the lamp, lit a candle and went upstairs to his bedroom.
He slept until late the following morning, and when he went downstairs between nine and ten, Samson was bringing his breakfast into the room.
“That’s right,” said Rowton, “I am as hungry as a ferret. You can put it down; I shall wait on myself.”
“You won’t forget that Scrivener is coming to-night?”
“Am I likely to, when you remind me of the fact whenever you see me? You want me to help with the boxes; I’ll go down to the cellar with you after breakfast.”
“As you please, sir, but if I were you I would not draw attention by taking a light there in the daytime.”
“We need not have a light; we can move the boxes in the dark. Be sure, by the way, that you have the cart in good time at Mervyn station to-night.”
“I forgot to say that Nelly has gone lame,” said Samson; “she hurt her hoof yesterday and won’t be good for anything for a few days.”