“I wish we’d stayed in the kitchen,” said Tom. “What’s the good of coming into this dark hole? I’m going back.” And in spite of the remonstrances of the others, he turned and retraced his steps.
The sound of his footfalls, echoing down the passage, made the place drearier than ever.
“Hush!” said Mr. Percival, out of the darkness. “Listen!”
They paused and strained their ears to catch a sound above that of the storm, whose dull roar beat indistinctly, like ocean waves, on the gables overhead.
“I hear something!” exclaimed Randolph under his breath, entering fully into the spirit of the adventure.
“So do I!” said both girls at once. “It’s a kind of creaking, snapping noise!”
“Here,” added Mr. Percival solemnly, throwing open a door they had not before perceived, “is the entrance to the Den.”
The room into which they now emerged from the narrow entry was apparently once intended for a dining-hall, though the young people had never before known of even its existence. It was of oblong shape, and had at one end a huge fireplace. The windows were heavily shuttered; the air was damp and musty. In the dim light they could make out clusters of old-fashioned candelabra, projecting here and there from the walls like spectral arms.
“Come on!” said Mr. Percival, advancing toward the end of the shadowy room. To the surprise of all three, he walked straight into the fireplace, stooping but slightly to avoid the mantel. The rest followed him, wondering. The snapping noise was now louder than ever. Outside, the wind moaned drearily.
Mr. Percival now turned sharply to the left and pressed with the flat of his hand against a projecting brick upon that side of the fireplace.