That door was of heavy oak, and the key was in the lock. Even without the white tag that hung from it, Bill knew it was a second entrance to the cellar, or so Charlie had told him. What if the door led to a part of the cellar that he had not already inspected? A moment’s thought made it plain that Mr. Evans must have left the key in the door to prevent the insertion of a duplicate from the cellar side.
The ringing stopped abruptly. Why on earth, Bill wondered, should there be an electric bell in the cellar? Charlie had mentioned no such thing, and who could have been ringing it, and why? For a few moments Bill could not decide whether to investigate or simply to ignore the matter. There was, however, the possibility that it was meant to be a message or a warning to him, and he decided to find out its meaning at once.
Extinguishing his flashlight, he gently turned the key in the cellar door. He pulled the door open and quickly stepped behind it. Nothing could be heard from the cellar, not a rustle, not a whisper. After waiting a moment or two, Bill ventured to move into the open doorway. A musty smell floated up the stairs—a smell of earth and stagnant air. With his outstretched foot, Bill explored until he found the first step. Very gingerly he descended into the darkness, his hand touching the stone wall at his side for guidance. When he reached the bottom, he paused again to listen. But he could hear nothing save his own breathing. Then, like a sudden stab through his brain, the bell pealed again.
This time it was quite close to him. He felt that if he reached out he could have touched it. The flashlight was still clenched in his hand. He hesitated, then pressed the button and held the light above his head. The cellar, vast and irregular, stanchioned by square stone pillars, lay before him, streaked by the wavering shadows cast by his light.
Bill saw at once that it was not the place he had gone over with Charlie. Arched wine-bins, mostly empty, made dim hollows along the walls. But still he could not locate the sound. With a final whir the ringing stopped, and the conviction swept into his mind that he had been listening, not to a call-bell, but to a telephone.
Yet he could see nothing that remotely resembled a telephone instrument. A bare heavy table with a couple of benches beside it stood in the middle of the floor, and he could see nothing else in the dimness save the blank, arched walls.
Ready to snap off his light at the first hint of any lurking enemy, Bill pushed forward and explored two short bays that ran out at right angles to the main wine cellar, but without result. Why, he deliberated, should there be a telephone in this underground spot? So far as his observation had gone, there was no phone upstairs, and a cellar seemed a mighty queer place to instal one. To conceal the instrument seemed stranger still. Bill noticed that a passage led off to the left. Avoiding some tumbled packing-cases on the floor, he went forward to see what he could find.
After he had gone about ten yards, he was brought up short by a heavy door. Like the one upstairs, this door also had its key in the lock. It was a primitive sort of lock and made a loud click as he turned it—too loud for Bill’s taste in the circumstances. He let a couple of seconds go by before venturing to proceed. His hand was on the key, ready to pull the door open, when something happened that made him stop and listen intently. He snapped off his light. From behind the iron-studded door he imagined—but was by no means certain—that he had heard a sound.
After a minute or two of silence he concluded that it must have been the wind stirring in a loose grating in the passage beyond. But presently he thanked his stars he had switched off the light, for suddenly he heard quite clearly the sound of footsteps, approaching on the other side of the unlocked door.
The situation called for swift action. In the blinding darkness, he quickly estimated whether he could possibly get through the cellar and up into the house in time to avoid discovery. It was not likely. But there was a shallow niche in the wall behind the door, and he slipped into it, praying that he would remain concealed when the door opened.