“Christmas Eve,” muttered Old Claus to himself. “I heard them say it in the streets. Merry Christmas! merry, merry Christmas!” he repeated bitterly. “Right merry for me. What a wretched, useless failure of a wreck I am!”
As he spoke he stamped his foot angrily upon the floor. There was a crash in the room behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he found that a large picture, an old portrait, the frame of which had been built into the wall and alone remained of the former splendor of the mansion, lay face downward upon the floor. Jarred by his heavy footfall, the decaying woodwork had at last given way, and let the canvas drop.
Claus’ glance wandered to the wall where it had been fastened. Then he started to his feet, the old fire returning to his eyes. In place of the picture was an opening, with a deep space beyond. He raised himself on tiptoe, and saw what appeared to be the top of a flight of steps, built into the thickness of the wall, and leading downward.
“Treasure at last!” he stammered, gazing greedily at the dusty steps, down which a huge rat scrambled, squeaking. “Treasure at last! I knew luck would turn! After all these years! It is mine, it is mine!”
Hastening to the mantel, he took down a small lamp, lighted it with trembling fingers, and dragging a chair to the wall beneath the aperture, climbed up to and into it. Yes, it was plainly a stone flight of steps. What bags of gold must lie at the bottom of that long-hidden passage?
He tested the stairway cautiously with his foot, and, finding it apparently secure, slowly descended, the space being barely wide enough for him to squeeze through.
Eight, nine, ten steps down. Then a sharp turn to the right! two more steps, and he emerged from the narrow passage into what once must have been a huge fireplace, having a hidden door in one side, some freak of the ancient builders, to allow a person to pass from one portion of the old house to the other without detection.
As Claus glanced about him his heart sank. There was no sign of a treasure. The chimney overhead had been stopped with stone slabs, and the original opening of the fireplace was closed by a wooden partition, one panel of which was hinged and bolted so as to form a small door. Doubtless the people in the next house were ignorant of this, and, probably, of the existence of the fireplace itself.