“Alix,” he said, “there’s some one tapping back at us from the other side. Listen.”
“A woodpecker,” said Alix hastily; “or the echo of your tappings.”
She was in such a hurry that she didn’t stop to reflect what silly things she was saying. To tell the truth, she didn’t quite like the idea of Rafe having the honour and glory of the discovery, if such it was.
“A woodpecker,” repeated Rafe. “What nonsense! Do woodpeckers tap inside a wall? And an echo wouldn’t wait till I had finished tapping to begin. It’s just like answering me. Listen again.”
He tapped three times, slowly and distinctly, then stopped. Yes, sure enough there came what seemed indeed like an answer. Three clear, sharp little raps—clearer and sharper, indeed, than those he made with the parasol handle. Alix was now quite convinced.
“It sounds like a little silver hammer,” she said. “Oh, Rafe, suppose we’ve really found something magic!” and her bright eyes danced with eagerness.
Rafe did not reply. He seemed intent on listening.
“Alix,” he said, “the tapping is going on—a little farther off now, and then it comes back again, as if it was to lead us on. It must be on purpose.”