ved to
succeed in their undertaking. At last the wooden rose fell out in their
hands, leaving a round opening.

Peering in, Sinclair saw a small iron knob, which seemed to be part of a
rusty spring.

Greatly excited, he tried to push or turn it, but couldn't move it.

"Anyway, we're getting warm," he cried, and his glowing face corroborated
his words.

The boys took turns in working at the stubborn spring, trying with
forceps and pincers to move it, until at last something seemed to give
way, and the whole front of the door jamb fell out as one panel.

Behind it was a series of small pigeon holes one above the other, all
filled with neatly piled papers.

Though yellow with age, the papers were carefully folded, labelled, and
dated.

"Patty!" cried Mabel, as she embraced her friend, "you've found our
fortune for us!"

"Don't be too sure," said Patty, laughing, and almost crying at the same
time, so excited was she. "Your Uncle Marmaduke was of such uncertain
ways I shouldn't wonder if these were merely more files of his immortal
verse."

"They're bills," declared Sinclair, as he ran over a packet he took from
a shelf.

"Let's look them all over systematically," said Bob. "Let's all sit round
the table, and one of us read out what the paper is about. Then if we
come to anything important, we'll all know it at once."

This plan was adopted, and Sinclair, as the oldest, was chosen to read.
He sat at the head of the long library table, and the others were at
either side.

But the packets of bills, though interesting in a general way, had no
bearing on the great question of the fortune. The papers were all bills.

"Not even a bit of poetry," sighed Patty, as Sinclair laid aside one
after another of the receipted bills for merchandise, household goods,
clothing, and labour.

"These might interest a historian," said Sinclair, "as they throw some
light on the prices of goods at that time. But we'll keep on, we may come
to something of interest yet."

"I hope so," said Bob. "I'm so anxious, that nothing less than a straight
direction to the fortune would satisfy me."

"Well, here's something," said Sinclair, "whatever it may mean."

The paper he had just unfolded was a mason's bill, containing only one
item. The bill was made out in due form, by one Martin Campbell, and was
properly receipted as paid. And its single item read:

"To constructing one secret pocket.... Three Guineas."

"Oh!" cried Patty, br