And Margaret, peeping fearfully down through the trap-door, beheld her guest waving one hand, a crimson one, in the air, and with the other embracing the ample form of Frances the cook; while behind them the grave Elizabeth looked wide-eyed, shading her candle with her hand.
"For shame, sir!" said Frances. "Do behave, now, Mr. Gerald! I never see such a bold boy since born I was."
"No, no! not bold; don't say bold, Mrs. Cook! Witness my blushing eyes, my tearful cheek, my stammering nose! Hush, listen, there's a good soul. Your doughnuts are food for the gods; also for Jerry. Poor Jerry; never had enough doughnuts in his life. You weep for him; let him dry the starting tear!"
Drawing out his pocket-handkerchief, he gravely applied it to Frances's eyes and went on. "We are looking for the Lost Casket, Miss Montfort and I. If you can help us to it, Mrs. Cook,—
"I'll dress thee all in pongo silk,
And crown thee with a bowl of milk;
And hail thee, till my last breath passes,
The queen of sugar and molasses.
A poet, as you observe. Nothing to what I can do, give me time and a yard measure. Now tell me—"
Margaret's voice from above interrupted him.
"Mr. Merryweather, there is a loose brick here. I can pull it quite out; and—yes—there is a space behind it, and—oh, can you bring the light?"
To snatch the lamp from Frances's hand, blow her a kiss, and scramble up the steps again, was the work of an instant with Gerald. He found Margaret pale, with shining eyes, holding something in her hands.
"No!" cried Gerald. "I say, you haven't—you have! eccentric Jiminy, you have found it!"