rted music-room staring helplessly about, a sudden
possibility occurred to me. Ay! that must be the truth, the full
explanation of her vanishing. She had come flying up the stairs,
frightened, desperate,--so far as she knew, alone against Fagin's
unscrupulous band. She had not returned to her father, or escaped by way
of the hall. Where then could she have gone? The secret staircase, down
which she had hurried me, and which was known only to herself, Eric and
Peter. I gripped Farrell's arm eagerly.

"You know this house well--did you ever hear of secret passages in it?"

"I have heard it whispered in gossip," he answered, "that such were here
in the old Indian days. Why?"

"Because it is true. The girl hid me here from Grant. And that is where
we will find her. The opening is there by the false chimney, but I have
no conception of how it works; she made me turn my back while she
operated the mechanism."

He stooped down, and began search along the fireplace, and I joined him.
Together our hands felt over every inch of surface. There was no
response, not even a crack to guide us. At last he glanced aside, and our
eyes met.

"Who knew of this beside Claire?" he asked.

"Eric and the servant Swanson. She told me she and her brother discovered
it by accident through reading an old memoranda."

"And the Colonel is not aware of its existence?"

"I understood not. Do you know if the boy lives?"

He left the room, and I heard his voice calling down the stairs, but did
not distinguish the words of reply. I was still on my knees when he
returned.

"He is alive, but unconscious, Lawrence. Do you consider it impossible
for her to escape from here alone, providing she took refuge in this
place?"

"I could find no opening, except underground, and that is blocked now." I
shuddered at the thought. "Besides, she must be in utter darkness, for I
used all the candles."

"Then we must get axes, and cut our way in. Wait here, and I will bring
up some of the men."

I straightened up as he left the room, and my eyes looked into a small
mirror above the open grate. Good Heavens! Could that be my reflection!
Bareheaded, my face streaked with blood and dirt, my coat rags, my shirt
ripped to the waist. I scarcely looked human. In sudden burst of anger I
reached out and gripped the mirror, jerking it savagely. Then I sprang
back. Slowly, with a faint click of the mechanism, the mantel-place was
swinging open.

CHAPTER XXXV