pressure--the
heart of a flower which released the section of bookshelves.
Going back to the shed, Desmond examined the place against which
his hand had rested as he sought to force the lock of the
cupboard. As he expected, he found a similar catch let into the
surface of the oak, but so cunningly inlaid that it could scarce
be detected with the naked eye.

Before proceeding further with his investigations, Desmond softly
turned the lock of the library door. He also shot forward a bolt
he found on the inside of the door of the shed. He did not want
to be interrupted by the housekeeper or the odd man.

Then he went back to the library and pulled the cupboard to
behind him. It moved quite easily into place. He wanted to have a
look at the bookshelves; for he was curious to know whether the
cupboard was actually all of one piece with the section of
bookshelves as it seemed to be. He was prepared to find that the
books were merely library dummies, but no! He tried half a dozen
shelves at random, and every book he pulled out was real.

Desmond was not easily baffled, and he determined to scrutinize
every shelf, of this particular section in turn. With the aid of
one of those step-ladders folding into a chair which you
sometimes see in libraries, he examined the topmost shelves but
without result. He took down in turn Macaulay's History of
England, a handsome edition of the works of Swift, and a set of
Moliere without getting any nearer the end of his quest.

The fourth shelf from the top was devoted to a library edition of
Shakespeare, large books bound in red morocco. Desmond, who, by
this time was getting cramp in the arms from stretching upwards
and had made his hands black with dust, pulled out a couple of
volumes at hazard from the set and found them real books like the
rest.

"Oh, damn!" he exclaimed, and had half a mind to abandon the
search and have a go with hammer and chisel at the cupboard in
the shed. By this time it was almost dusk in the library, and
Desmond, before abandoning the search, struck a match to have a
final rapid glance over the shelves. The light showed him a
curious flatness about the backs of the last six volumes of
Shakespeare. He dropped the match and laid hold of a volume of
the Comedies. It resisted. He tugged. Still it would not come.
Exerting all his strength, he pulled, the gilt-lettered backs of
the last six volumes came away in his hands in one piece and he
crashed off the ladde