I
A FAMILY SECRET

Eric Stone lived in Westminster with his aunt, for he had no mother or father. He belonged to a Westminster Pack, but he spent all his holidays at his grandfather’s house—a lovely old castle in Wales. Its weather-beaten walls reached out very near to the craggy cliffs, where the sea dashed up, white and foamy. Of course Eric longed for his holidays, and one day it struck him how jolly it would be to take three of the other Cubs with him. So he got leave from his grandfather, Sir David Stone, and then he invited the boys. He did not choose the ones he liked best, but the three chaps who would be likely to have the dullest holiday, and no fun at Christmas. That is how Donald Ford, number six of the Whites, came to have the strange adventure this story is about.
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. . . . . . . .

It was Christmas Eve. The four Cubs had decorated the castle with holly and mistletoe. Now they were curled up on the great bearskin rug in the hall, before a blazing log fire. The dark winter afternoon had closed in, but the lamps were not yet lighted. Everything looked very mysterious; the fire-light danced in the dark corners, gleaming on the shining suits of armour and oak-panelled walls.
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“Tell us a ghost story,” said one of the Cubs. So Eric told them all the stories he knew about the castle, and the knights who had lived in it hundreds of years ago. “And now,” he said, “I’ll tell you something which is not just a story, but is quite true. Somewhere in this castle there is a secret room. You know in olden days people used to hide in secret rooms, away from their enemies. Well, there’s one here, and it was always kept very secret: only the head of the family knew where it was. It opened by a spring, hidden in the oak panelling. But now nobody knows where it is; the secret has been quite lost for four hundred years, because they found it was very, very unlucky for any one to open the door or go in; it always meant a tragedy, or great shame on the family. I should love to find the room and so would grandfather. Of course it’s all rot about its being unlucky.”

“Oh,” cried the Cubs, “how awfully exciting! Do let’s hunt for it.”

“Yes,” agreed Eric, “we will, to-morrow. There’s one side of the castle we don’t use, because it is unsafe and may fall to ruins any day. The servants say that’s where the secret room is. They wouldn’t go there after dark for anything. In fact they say they hear footsteps there in the night.”
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At this moment there were steps in the hall and voices, and Eric’s grandfather came in accompanied by his adopted son, William Mendel, a gloomy-looking man. Sir David Stone was a tall, soldierly looking old man, and devoted to Eric, for Eric’s father (his only son) had been killed in the War. William Mendel was the son of a very old friend of his, who had died when William was quite a boy. Eric and the Cubs disliked “Uncle William,” for he never lost an opportunity of snubbing them. They called him “the Professor” behind his back. He had rather long black hair, and a sullen, yellowish face. He wore large, round spectacles, and stooped badly. He had a nasty habit of peering about him in a suspicious manner.

“Hullo, kiddies!” said old Sir David, “what are you all doing in the dark?”

“I’ve been telling them about the secret room, grandfather,” said Eric; “to-morrow we are going to have a hunt for it.”

Sir David laughed. “All right,” he said, “and a golden sovereign for the one who finds it—that’s a bargain.”
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The Cubs were delighted.

But Uncle William was looking very cross. “I shouldn’t have thought you would have wanted to find the secret room, Eric,” he said with a sneer. “You know it is haunted, and brings trouble to whoever finds it.”

Old Sir David turned in surprise. “My dear William,” he said, “you don’t mean to say you believe in that old wives’ tale?”

William Mendel laughed an ugly laugh. “Do you take me for a fool, father?” he said. “I was only trying to frighten the children from going to the left wing of the castle. You know how exceedingly dangerous it is.”

“I don’t believe it’s dangerous,” said Sir David.

“Well, sir,” retorted William, “there will be an accident one day if you let people walk about in those rickety passages.”

Sir David shrugged his shoulders. It was not the first argument he had had with his adopted son about the left wing of the castle.
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The Cubs were full of ideas about the secret room, and how to find it and earn the sovereign, as they went to bed that night.

II
AN ENEMY AT HAND

Christmas had passed, one long succession of delights, starting with a most generous Santa Claus and ending with a New Year’s party. Never had the four Cubs had such a Christmas! But during all this time they had forgotten the secret room. It was not until ten days later that the intended search took place. Tired and disappointed, the Cubs had come down to tea, and it was then that Uncle William had made his bright suggestion.

“There’s something more worth hunting for in this neighbourhood than an old secret room,” he said, “and you Cubs are just the people to find it.”

“What’s that, sir?” asked the Cubs, eagerly.
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“Why, a German spy!” said Uncle William, with a grin. “And if you catch him I will give you each a golden sovereign—that’s a bargain!” The Cubs were thrilled.

“We’ll go out and look for him first thing to-morrow morning,” said Eric, cheerfully. But his grandfather was looking very grave.

“It is really a very serious matter,” he said, turning to William Mendel. “They say there’s an enemy submarine in the Irish Sea. Another liner was sunk this morning, only a few miles from here. That’s the eighth ship they’ve got near here in the last few weeks. I was speaking to the police, this morning, who say they suspect a base somewhere, at which this boat gets its supply of petrol. Otherwise it could not possibly remain so long in enemy waters. But it must be an extraordinarily clever arrangement, when one considers how well the coast is guarded. I don’t know what can have led them to suspect the spy’s presence in this neighbourhood.”
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“No,” said William Mendel, “That’s what struck me. There would seem to be no hiding-place for him. And as to a base for providing a submarine with petrol about these rocky shores—well, that’s out of the question.”

“Quite,” agreed Sir David, “quite.”

But the spy had given the Cubs an object in life—they were hot on his tracks.

. . . . . . . .

Donald Ford, the Cub who had asked Eric to tell them ghost stories on Christmas Eve, had not given up hope of finding the secret room. In fact, while the others were full of the spy, he still thought most of the secret room. He was not a very strong boy, and often, when the others went out in the frosty air, dashing over the bleak, stony hill through a long afternoon, he would choose to stay in, and sit by the log fire, dreaming, or reading tales of the good old days of knights and dragons and tournaments. It was on an afternoon like this that he discovered the old library.
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Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling, row upon row. Old brown leather bindings they had, and gold lettering. They smelt very ancient, and were very, very dusty. But Donald loved to take them down, and sit on the floor, looking at their quaint pictures. And it was one day, sitting here in the library, that he made a very wonderful discovery which led to the strange adventure that befell him.

He had found an old book full of pictures of knights and ladies and people going hawking, dressed in curious, old-fashioned clothes. On the fly-leaf of the book was written in a big, childish hand, “Eric Stone, His Booke, 1640.”

Donald turned the old musty pages with interest. So this book had belonged to a boy just about three hundred years ago. As he turned the pages a yellowish paper fluttered from between them, and fell on to the floor. Donald picked it up and examined it. It was covered with writing in the same round hand as there was on the fly-leaf. And this is what he read:
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“I, Eric Stone, have found and discovered a most strange thing. But for fear of the ancient curse which brings dreadful mishap I have not told any person. I will write it here for him to read, who doth find this book. I have found the Secret Room. It is on the oak gallery, in the left wing of the Castle. The manner of the hiding of the spring is this. The oak panel is carved and ornamented with roses. The twenty-seventh rose from the end of the passage contains a hidden spring. If the rose be pushed upwards it will slide up, and also four inches of the panel. Below this lies a picture, engraven upon steel, of a horse’s head. If his right eye be pressed the spring will be released, and a panel of the wall will slide away. The room is empty.”

Donald’s heart beat fast as he read this message, come down to him through the ages from another boy. So he had the clue to the secret! He determined to lose no time in making the mysterious discovery, and ran quickly up the stairs.
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Pushing open a heavy baize door, he found himself in the deserted left wing of the castle. The long corridors were bare and uncarpeted. Mounting a creaking staircase, he found himself in the Oak Gallery. He felt terribly alone and just a wee bit frightened; but, repeating the Second Cub Law to himself, he ran to the end of the passage. He was breathless with excitement. “One—two—three—four—five—” he counted the carved roses, “25—26—27—” Here he paused and, following the instructions on the paper, shoved the rose upwards. It moved away easily, and, sure enough, revealed a metal plate engraved with a horse’s head! With a trembling finger Donald pressed the great round eye of the horse. Instantly a wide piece of the oak panel slipped away, and, looking through the opening, Donald saw before him a dim-lit room. He was half afraid, but remembering he was a Cub he braced himself and entered.
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He found himself in a long and very narrow room. But it was not empty as it had been when, three hundred years ago, another little boy had stood in that same doorway and looked in. From floor to ceiling the room was piled high with petrol cans, small tanks, and barrels. In one corner of the room a small door stood open.

Thoughts whirled through Donald’s brain. He had come on more than an old, dead secret, here! Peering down through the little door into the darkness he could just make out a flight of steps leading down in the form of a spiral staircase, in the thickness of the wall.

III
“A PRIVATE CONVERSATION”

That little, low door; the dusty steps leading down into the unknown darkness; the strange, musty smell—all this was too much for Donald. If only Eric his Sixer were there, he would not be afraid. But alone!—no, he dared not venture down. Turning round, he let himself out of the secret room, and carefully closed the panel. Standing on the bare, deserted landing, he looked about him. Was he dreaming? Had he somehow walked into a fairy tale? The oak-panelled wall showed no signs, now, of the secret lying behind it. Suddenly Donald felt a great longing to see the other Cubs. Turning round, he ran as fast as he could along the passages, and down the stairs. Once through the green baize door that separated the left wing from the rest of the castle all was familiar and reassuring. His footsteps no longer echoed as he ran; in fact, you could not hear them as he stepped on the thick, soft carpet. It was warm, here, and he could hear the friendly crackle of the great log fire down in the hall. And then—welcome sound!—the front door opened and the Cubs came in, talking cheerfully of their game out on the hills. Tea in the old dining-room was a noisy meal: but Donald did not join in the noise. He was thinking of the extraordinary thing he had discovered.

As soon as tea was over he called his Sixer aside.
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“I say,” he whispered, “I want to speak to you privately—very privately.”

“Right-o!” said Eric, “come on—we’ll go into the library, no one will hear us there.”

And so, squatting on the floor, among the ancient books, Donald told his friend the story of his strange discovery.

Eric’s eyes grew bright, and his face flushed with excitement as he heard all Donald had to tell. Here, at last, was a real adventure! It had always been knights, or princes in fairy tales, or boys who ran away and went to sea, who had splendid things like that happen to them. But at last the chance had come his way!
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. . . . . . . .

The next morning the two boys, white with excitement, stole along the quiet passages of the left wing, hand in hand. They both carried candles. Donald was armed with a stout stick, but his Sixer had insisted on bringing his air-gun and an old dagger out of the armoury. “There’ll be some dirty work if we meet the spy!” said Eric (remembering how he had heard his soldier cousin talk). “I say, have you got the coil of rope all ............