Meanwhile Roger and his grandfather were prying off the boards that covered in the chimney on the right side and supported the mantel-shelf. As it fell back into their hands two more gold coins tumbled to the floor.
"Just take off this narrow plank, Roger and let me squint in there. Stand back, please, all of you, and let us have as much light as we can."
"I have a flashlight," said Mr. Schuler.
"Just the ticket. Now, then--," and Mr. Emerson kneeled down, peering into the space that was disclosed when the boards fell away. "I see something; I certainly see something," he cried as the electricity searched into the darkness. He thrust in his arm but the something was too far off.
"Take my crutch," suggested Mr. Schuler.
Mr. Emerson took it and tugged away with the top.
"It's coming, it's coming," his muffled cry rose from the depths.
Another tug and a blackened leather pouch, slashed with a jagged tear from which gold pieces were pouring, tumbled into the room.
"Pick it all up and put it on the table, Roger, while Mr. Schuler and I decide how it happened," ordered Mr. Emerson.
The investigation seemed to prove that there probably had been a crack in the bricks at the back of the mantel at the time when Algernon Merriam, Miss Gertrude's ancestor, had thrust the bag into the mantel cupboard. It had fallen off the back of the shelf and into the little crevasse where it lay beyond the reach of arm or bent wire or candle light for over a hundred and thirty years.