Randalls Round by Eleanor Scott Read Free Book Online Page B

just where that panel is? It’s between the windows in the north wall. No direct light ever touches it.”
    “You’re right!” cried the Vicar, almost as much excited as the American. “And the last clue – the heart?”
    “This is where we go and look,” declared Mr. Matthews.
    The day was nearly ended, but a few rays of light struggled dimly into the north passage. As they hurried along, a small gleaming object lying on the floor met their eyes. Matthews stooped and picked it up. It was a thin silver chain to which was attached a tiny crucifix – a trinket such as is worn by a large majority of Catholics.
    “One of the Sharpes dropped it, I reckon,” said the American. “I’ll take it down when I go.” And he dropped it into his pocket.
    In the north room the light had almost gone; but enough remained to direct the two men to the panel. “See here, the book is the Vulgate!” cried Matthews, peering closely at the carving. “We’re right on the trail.”
    “ ‘Where the treasure is, there the heart is also,’ ” murmured the Vicar. “Now, what can that mean?”
    They tried the breast of the carved figure in all possible ways, with no result.
    “ Well, if that’s not plumb annoying!” cried the American, pausing in his efforts. “I guess it must be another of his tricks. The wall’s hollow here, too, I’d take my oath,” and he rapped the panel with his knuckles. It certainly was not solid. It gave a queer echo, and Mr. Matthews thought he detected a faint sound, as of something stirring within the wall.
    “Something moved!” he cried excitedly. “Guess it might’ve been machinery…” But further knockings produced no result.
    “Let’s try the decorated border,” suggested Mr. Molyneux. “There may be some hint there.”
    The border was made up of wreaths of fruit and flowers, broken at intervals by shields so small that the quarterings were almost invisible. In some the arms could only be guessed from the crest, which was generally cut more deeply and with greater care than the shield.
    “That’s a queer crest,” said Matthews, pointing to one of these. “Looks more like a setting sun than anything.”
    “I daresay it is,” said the Vicar. “There was a lady of the Wigram family, whose crest is a rising sun, who intermarried with the Langtres. The arms are quite gone from the shield, though. It is perfectly smooth.”
    The light was now so bad that by common consent they abandoned their hunt till next day, and went down again to the lamp–lit library.
    “Why, Mr. Molyneux, I’m afraid I’ve tired you by my treasure hunt,” said Matthews, penitently, as he saw the Vicar’s pale face.
    “It’s nothing – nothing at all,” protested the other. “Just a little headache – my eyes are not strong. And I found that north room very close.”
    “You look as if bed was the place for you,” declared Matthews; and the Vicar needed little urging, after dinner, to retire early. The American followed at eleven: not because he felt inclined for sleep, but because he wished to wake in the morning with a brain clear to tackle the problem of the panel. He was excited, and undressed with rapid, untidy movements, flinging down his discarded garments with utter disregard for neatness. The result of this was that his coat, thrown carelessly, fell upside–down, scattering the contents of the pockets over the floor. It was only then that he saw and remembered the silver chain and cross he had picked up.
    “I must remember to give that back to the Sharpes,” he thought. “Where’ll I put it?” Then a queer fancy came into his head, and he slipped the chain round his neck.
    “Guess I shan’t forget it now,” he chuckled, as he slid between the sheets.
    The clocks had struck midnight, and still Mr. Matthews lay awake. The riddle of the panel bothered him. Try as he would, he could not see what the hint about the heart was intended to convey. He ran over the carving again and again in