“There’s a woman lying dead in the cellar back yonder,” said the man, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
“The cellar?” cried Matthews.
“Yes, sir... I think you must ha’ overlooked it.”
Francis, Desmond and Matthews exchanged a brief glance. A name was on the lips of each one of them but none dared speak it. Then, leaving Harrison and Mrs. Butterworth with Nur-el-Din, the three men followed the soldier and hurriedly quitted the room.
CHAPTER XXII.
WHAT THE CELLAR REVEALED
On opening the door at the farther end of the tap-room they saw before them a trap-door standing wide with a shallow flight of wooden steps leading to the darkness below. Bates pointed with his foot to a square of linoleum which lay on one side.
“That was covering the trap,” he said, “I wouldn’t ha’ noticed nothing out of the ordinary myself only I slipped, see, and kicked this bit o’ ilecloth away and there was the ring of the trap staring me in the face, as you might say. Show us a light here, Gordon!”
Gordon handed him an electric torch. He flashed it down the stair. It fell upon something like a heap of black clothes huddled up at the foot of the ladder.
“Is it Miss Mackwayte?” whispered Francis to his brother. “I’ve never seen her, you know!”
“I can’t tell,” Desmond whispered back, “until I see her face.”