Not the chimney. No. He had long ago discarded that as a course of exit. But the fireplace, somehow.
He peered and scrutinized; he fingered and pinched; he reasoned and cogitated; and at last his patient effort was rewarded by seeing the tiniest bit of rust or rubbed enamel that looked as if it might mean a hidden spring.
And it did! Careful manipulation, gentle urging, without forcing made the fireplace give up its secret at last, and the whole grate with its back piece, all, swung round on a pivot into the house next door, and the fireplace that belonged in there swung into Coleman Coe’s astonished ken!
The back of the fireplace, was a mere gate,—hung on a pivot, instead of on side hinges, and it swung as easily as if recently oiled, which it doubtless had been.
Half dazed, Coe went through the opening,—a wide enough one, as the grates were exceedingly shallow, though very broad.
He found himself in a pleasant bedroom, almost a duplicate of Webb’s own, as to size, shape and arrangement.
The secret entrance was found at last!
Eagerly Coe examined every part of it. The grates in the two rooms were alike,—the Webb one much cleaner and brighter than the other.
Coe’s mind flew back to the story of the servant or somebody who smelled a newly kindled fire without reason therefor.
It was, of course, because some hand had turned the revolving grates around when there was or had been a fire in one side and not in the other.