“You are not aware that John Buckhurst is the soul and centre of the Belleville Reds?”
“It is—it is false!” she stammered.
“No, madame, it is true. He wears a smug mask here; he has deceived you all.” 49
She stood there, breathing rapidly, her head high.
“John Buckhurst will answer for himself,” she said, steadily.
“When, madame?”
For answer she stepped across the hall and laid one hand against the blank stone wall. Then, reaching upward, she drew from between the ponderous blocks little strips of steel, colored like mortar, dropping them to the stone floor, where they rang out. When she had flung away the last one, she stepped back and set her frail shoulder to the wall; instantly a mass of stone swung silently on an unseen pivot, a yellow light streamed out, and there was a tiny chamber, illuminated by a lamp, and a man just rising from his chair.