in he told himself that the matter was none of his business, that to
explore the secrets of that surprising door, that mysterious staircase
within, would be a piece of unforgivable rudeness and indiscretion.
It was in vain; for five minutes he struggled heroically with his
curiosity, but at the end of that time he found himself standing in
front of the innocent sheet of panelling through which the little maid
had disappeared. A glance sufficed to show him the position of the
secret door--secret, he perceived, only to those who looked with
a careless eye. It was just an ordinary door let in flush with the
panelling. No latch nor handle betrayed its position, but an unobtrusive
catch sunk in the wood invited the thumb. George was astonished that he
had not noticed it before; now he had seen it, it was so obvious,
almost as obvious as the cupboard door in the library with its lines
of imitation shelves and its dummy books. He pulled back the catch and
peeped inside. The staircase, of which the degrees were made not
of stone but of blocks of ancient oak, wound up and out of sight.
A slit-like window admitted the daylight; he was at the foot of the
central tower, and the little window looked out over the terrace; they
were still shouting and splashing in the pool below.

"George closed the door and went back to his seat. But his curiosity
was not satisfied. Indeed, this partial satisfaction had but whetted
its appetite. Where did the staircase lead? What was the errand of the
little maid? It was no business of his, he kept repeating--no business
of his. He tried to read, but his attention wandered. A quarter-past
twelve sounded on the harmonious clock. Suddenly determined, George
rose, crossed the room, opened the hidden door, and began to ascend
the stairs. He passed the first window, corkscrewed round, and came
to another. He paused for a moment to look out; his heart beat
uncomfortably, as though he were affronting some unknown danger. What
he was doing, he told himself, was extremely ungentlemanly, horribly
underbred. He tiptoed onward and upward. One turn more, then half a
turn, and a door confronted him. He halted before it, listened; he could
hear no sound. Putting his eye to the keyhole, he saw nothing but a
stretch of white sunlit wall. Emboldened, he turned the handle and
stepped across the threshold. There he halted, petrified by what he saw,
mutely gaping.

"In the middle of a pleasantly sunny little room--'it i