“Press the knot hole, why don’t you?” suggested Bab.
One touch was enough. The panel opened and disclosed a long passage cut apparently through the wall. There were several branch passages leading off from the main one, marked with faded handwriting on slips of paper, one “To the Cellar,” another “To the Library” and finally the last one “To the Right Wing.”
“This must be the one,” said Stephen, as they groped their way along single file. “Be careful,” he called; “there should be a flight of steps along here somewhere.”
Presently they came to the steps. Up through the dense blackness they could faintly hear a sound of moaning.
“All right, José, old fellow, we are coming to you,” cried Stephen, while Bab’s heart beat so loud she could not trust herself to speak.
Groping their way down the narrow stairway, they came to a landing almost on a level with the ceilings of the first floor rooms. At the far end of the passage they could hear a voice calling faintly.
“He probably fell the length of the steps, and dragged himself across,” exclaimed Stephen, holding his lantern high above his head.
They found José stretched out by a narrow door opening directly into the right wing. There was a gash just above his temple which he himself had bound with his handkerchief and his leg appeared to be broken at the ankle.
“José, my poor boy,” cried Stephen, “we have found you at last!”
José smiled weakly and fainted dead away.