Marjory thought that this would be a good opportunity for her to make her request.
"May we try again to open the chest, please, uncle?" she asked.
"What chest, child?"
"Why, the oak chest in the old wing. We do so want to see what's in it."
"Nonsense, Marjory. I tell you it has been there ever since I can remember, and there's nothing in it as far as I know." Seeing the disappointment in the young people's faces as he said this, he relented, saying, "Well, well, I suppose I must let you have your way. You may try if you like, but I won't have you using any tools. It's a fine old piece of wood, and I don't want it spoiled."
They readily promised not to do any harm to the box, and as soon as dinner was over they hurried off to the old part of the house, Alan feeling rather flattered by Marjory's suggestion that he might be able to find some way of opening the chest.
There was no sign of any lock except the one in front, which they had tried before, and in which none of the keys would turn. The lid fitted firmly and smoothly, and so tightly that its joining with the box was hardly visible. It was a magnificent specimen of cabinet work.
"Of course it may have a spring," said Marjory, "if only we knew where to find it."
At this suggestion they all set to work to push and thump and press, but as before their efforts were of no avail.
Marjory wondered to herself whether the same ingenious person who had contrived the secret door upstairs might have made this box.