It seemed more conspicuous now,—indeed, he wondered how he could have missed seeing it sooner.
Then he realized it was not really conspicuous,—it had doubtless been done last housecleaning time.
But it was too bright for that theory. No, sir, that gilt had been applied to those scratched or marred leaves lately, and it had been done carefully and well. Done by somebody who knew how,—not a professional decorator, necessarily, but some one who knew about that sort of thing.
Why, he used to do it himself, when he lived at home,—and he remembered even yet the way the gold paint got all over his fingers and the way it smelled of—
Great Scott! of bananas!
It did! Every metal paint he had ever used,—gilt, bronze, copper,—all smelled of bananas,—acetate of amyl,—or something like that!
Had Oscar’s reference to a banana odour proved valuable after all?
And what could it mean? Why, the answer flashed across his eager brain,—it meant that the entrance,—the secret entrance, was somehow connected with that fireplace,—that the kidnapper had scratched the gilt leaves so badly when making his exit, that he had, to escape detection, to retouch the marred places!
To work uninterruptedly Coe went and closed the room door and locked it.
Then he sat down on the floor in front of the fireplace, and pondered.