Half an hour later Colonel Mapleson emerged from the front door of the cottage, and, after looking cautiously around, as if he was afraid of being observed, he passed quickly down the steps, out of the gate, carefully closing it after him, and then strode rapidly toward a thick growth of trees and bushes, behind which he had fastened his horse.
Springing into his saddle, he spoke sharply to the animal, and rode away at a brisk trot in the opposite direction from that which Everet had taken a little while before.
But at the end of a mile or so, he turned abruptly into another cart path, and, after nearly an hour’s ride, came in sight of the Hermitage.
Dismounting, he led his horse behind the house into the dilapidated stable, where he would be sheltered and concealed from sight, if any one chanced to pass that way, and then he made his own way inside the Hermitage.
It was evident, from all his movements, that he had come there with some settled purpose, for he drew a hammer and chisel from one of his pockets, and then commenced a systematic examination of the room that had been Robert Dale’s sanctum.
But it proved to be a rather discouraging undertaking, for there was very little about the room to suggest a place of concealment for anything of a valuable character.
There was so little wood-work about the house that there was not much chance for secret panels or closets. The doors were of oak—solid oak, for he tested them thoroughly with his hammer. The book-cases offered not the slightest evidence of any hiding-place; the desk he examined several times, finding the compartment of which Everet had told him, but no other, although he critically examined every portion of it.
The floor was of brick, paved in herring-bone patterns, but there was no indication that a single brick had ever been removed for any purpose whatever, although he inspected the whole surface with the utmost care. At last, wearied out with his fruitless efforts, he sat down in the chair before the desk, to rest and to think.
“I am confident,” he muttered, “that the man must have made a will, and that there are other papers existing, representing a large amount of property. I believe he cunningly concealed them during his lifetime, thinking that when he came to die he would have warning enough to enable him to confide his secret to some trustworthy person.”
He looked up at the ceiling; he closely scrutinized the window casings and the fire-place. But there wasn’t a crack nor a crevice that promised a revelation of any kind.