AT THE FIREPLACE
She looked from my face down in the hall to where the lad was barely visible amid the far shadows, her hand still within mine, as if she clung to me unconsciously. Then her eyes came back questioningly to my own.
"What—what is he doing there?"
"Merely watching the hall while I search the rooms."
I could see the doubt in the blue-gray depths of her eyes, while her hand dropped from mine, and the lines of her mouth hardened.
"Search the rooms? Why should you search the rooms?"
"Because we cannot afford to be taken by surprise from the rear. I am hunting for the secret passage."
"Is—is that why you stationed him way back there?"
The question was innocent enough, natural enough, yet it instantly awoke my suspicion. She knew now where that entrance was. She may not have known before, but now she did. Donald must have still been in the hall when she came up stairs, and he had been compelled to reveal to her his means of escape from the house. And we must have guessed right, for it was O'Brien's position which alarmed her. Perhaps I could surprise the girl into a partial confession.
"I stationed him there," I said quietly, "because I believe that fireplace hides the secret. And now we are going to find out."
An instant I thought the shot had carried home, but only an instant. Then her eyes smiled, almost mockingly.
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