r a moment they faced each other steadily.

"You mean that--finally?" he asked.

"Finally," she answered.

He moved to a door at the further end of the room, and opened it.

"Come," he said quietly. "You have gone too far to draw back. You shall
see the secrets of my house. Follow me."

CHAPTER XXIV

THE SECRET OF THE HOUSE

She followed him out of the black room into a dark, narrow passage.

Her calmness and self-possession remained undisturbed. Without a tremor
she accepted this unexpected invitation to the secrets of the Crooked
House--quite ignorant of, and indifferent to, the danger to which she
might be committing herself. That there were hidden things in the house
she had for a long time been convinced, but of their nature she had been
unable to form even a conjecture, in spite of many attempts to creep
into the mystery. Copplestone's sudden decision to reveal them to her
was a surprise, and an unpleasant check to the development of her
schemes. Either he placed a much lower value on his secrets than she had
expected, or her participation in them was by no means to be dreaded to
the extent that she had relied upon. In any case her position was
considerably weakened, and the success of her plans was no longer the
assured thing she had believed it to be.

In silence they ascended a flight of stairs, and reached a door which
appeared to be the entrance into a separate part of the building. It was
a massive oak door, fitted with double locks of remarkable strength for
a private house. Copplestone held it open, motioning her to pass before
him, and relocked it on the other side. She was still without any
nervousness, but her curiosity increased with every step. He led the way
on, and she followed him unhesitatingly. They traversed several
corridors, and turned many corners. Her sense of direction told her that
they had entered an extreme wing of the house, hidden away among the
thickest trees of the garden, and to all appearances unused. The place
was damp, dusty, and silent, with the intense silence of emptiness. Some
of the doors were open, showing unfurnished, neglected rooms. The papers
were peeling off the walls; the fittings were covered with the rust and
dirt of years; the soiled blinds half covered the closed, uncleaned
windows. The atmosphere was close and unhealthy.

"What a parable of waste!" she said.

He did not reply. They came to a square landing, and another heavy door
faced them.