On the previous night we had trimmed the hurricane lamp that I had purchased in London as part of our equipment, therefore we soon had it alight and eagerly entered the doorway to explore.
Reilly went first, bending low, lamp in one hand and a short crowbar in the other, while I followed with an axe as one of the most useful of implements.
The door had been forced from its fastenings and had gone far back upon its hinges, almost uninjured, save that it was split in places and badly twisted. Within we found a rough-walled, close-smelling chamber, about 4 ft. across and about 9 ft. long, low, dark as pitch, and, to our abject disappointment, absolutely empty.
One object alone we found within—an old leather drinking mug, hard, dry and cracked, that lay in one corner long forgotten.
Reilly’s idea was that the place was a “priests’ hole,” one of the secret hiding-places of the Roman Catholic priests after the Reformation, so often found in old houses, and in this I was inclined to agree with him. Still, after a whole day’s work, and a hard one, too, our raised hopes had only been dashed by a negative discovery. The wreck we had made of the wall was appalling, and if we proceeded for long in that manner I dreaded to think what might be the amount claimed for dilapidations.
My young friend was, however, enthusiastic and nothing daunted. He lit a cigarette and, puffing at it vigorously, silently regarded the yawning hole in the wall.
“No doubt it was a place of concealment for those unfortunate Johnnies who were so badly badgered after Henry VIII’s decree,” he remarked. “Old Bartholomew was a staunch Catholic and, of course, in his house any priest found shelter and concealment who asked for it. That accounts for the mug being there. The last man who occupied the place before it was closed up and plastered over probably drank his ale out of it.”
“Well,” I said, disappointedly, “we’ve made a pretty mess, and we’d best start to clear it up tidily before we do anything more. Method is everything in a complete search like this.”
“Of course,” was my young friend’s remark; “only I wish we could get a sight of that parchment which that drunken sot sold for half a sovereign. If we could, we shouldn’t go on working in the dark like this.”
“Ah, Philip,” I said, with a sigh, “we shall never get sight of that, I fear. Purvis and his friends keep it too safely guarded.”
“I wonder if they know that we are tenants of this place?”
“Probably. Kenway wrote to him two days ago.”
“Then, knowing the kind of men they are, I feel rather apprehensive that they may endeavour to turn us out, or do something desperate.”
“Let them try!” I laughed. “We’ve both got revolvers, and neither of us would be afraid to use them if the worst came.”
“We must mind they don’t take us unawares. Men like that never fight square. Bennett has the ingenuity of the Evil One himself.”
I reflected for a moment, then said:—
“If we only knew the identity of the victim of the tragedy and could establish his death we might have the whole crowd under arrest.”
“Yes. But how can we establish his identity?” Reilly queried. “They were smart enough to dispose of the body successfully.”
“But if the police made inquiries they might discover the cabman who was called, and by that means find out what had been done with the trunk.”
“No,” replied the young bank clerk. “That girl Bristowe could tell us a lot if she wished. You know her—why not try to pump her? I don’t think it would be difficult to discover something from her, for she was horror-struck when they revealed to her the poor fellow’s fate.”
His suggestion seemed an excellent one, but not at present practicable. We were at that moment in possession of a house which our enemies were straining every nerve to search, like ourselves. Surely it was not policy to leave it at that juncture, empty and at their mercy. Reilly did not care to remain alone in charge, and certainly I was by no means anxious to live in that awful, depressing place without a companion.
A careful review of the position impressed upon us the necessity of continuing our search. We possessed certain documentary evidence which showed, first, that a treasure had been stored away; secondly, that it had been stored in a place of safety, with the Knuttons as guardians; thirdly, that the Knuttons had been installed by Bartholomew himself in the Manor Farm, the old house in close proximity. Therefore we could arrive at but one conclusion, namely, that the treasure was stored upon the premises now in our possession. If not, why had the Knuttons been established there? Richard Knutton, of the Port of Sandwich, who was Bartholomew’s trusted lieutenant, would surely be placed on guard in the vicinity of the secret hiding-place. Sea-dogs they all were, and clever ones too. Probably few had seen more hand-to-hand fighting and more fierce bloodshed than the seven signatories, and their prize money had undoubtedly amounted to a handsome sum.
Reilly was impatient and rather headstrong. He made lots of wild suggestions. If Purvis and his friends had hired burglars to search his uncle’s study, why should we not, by similar means, try and possess ourselves of that all-important document which the drunken Knutton had sold to our enemies? Which argument was, of course, logical, but it did not appeal to me. My own opinion was that if we acted firmly, with caution and patience, we should one day satisfactorily clear up the mystery. Still, our position was irksome, for we dared not to leave the place for long together, fearing that our enemies might be working against us in secret.
Through several days we continued our search, taking up the worm-eaten floor boards, but exposing nothing more interesting than rat runs; wrenching out the old oak panelling, and searching for any hollow-sounding places in the walls. Our investigation was certainly thorough, for we took room by room, methodically measuring, sounding, and making openings everywhere.
One morning the rural postman brought me a letter from Seal, explaining that the Thrush had at last gone into dry dock, where she would remain for three weeks at least to be scraped and patched, therefore he was coming down next day to help us. This was good news, for with three of us on guard we could each be allowed more liberty. So I went over to Uppingham again and purchased another camp bed and some cheap furniture, sufficient to make us up a sitting-room. That same night it arrived, and we then turned one of the smaller rooms on the ground floor into a smoking-room, with three cane chairs, a table, and a window-blind.
I met Seal at Rockingham Station on the followi............