"Ah, you're becoming a trifle less sceptical, Maître Delarue. You'll be declaring next that the door will open."
"I do declare it. This old lunatic was a clever mechanician and a scenical producer of the first order."
"You speak of him as if he were dead," observed Dorothy.
The notary seized her arm.
"Of course I do! I'm quite willing to admit that he's behind this door. But alive? No, no! Certainly not!"
She put her foot on one of the bricks. Errington and Dario pressed the two others. The door jerked violently, quivered, and turned on its hinges.
"Holy Virgin!" murmured Dario. "We're confronted by a genuine miracle. Are we going to see Satan?"
By the light of their lamps they perceived a fair-sized room with an arched ceiling. No ornament relieved the bareness of the stone walls. There was nothing in the way of furniture in it. But one judged that there was a small, low room, which formed an alcove, from the piece of tapestry, roughly nailed to a beam, which ran along the left side of it.
The five men and Dorothy did not stir, silent, motionless. Maître Delarue, extremely pale, seemed very ill at ease indeed.
Was it the fumes of wine, or the distress inspired by mystery?