There
were voices talking at a distance, two women, one a pleasant contralto,
the other cracked and high pitched. The lady was doing her part; I
must do mine. I closed the door gently, and stole over toward the
picture, half afraid of my task, yet nerving myself for the ordeal.
A black haircloth sofa, with broad mahogany arm, offered two easy
steps, enabling me to tip the heavy frame sufficiently so as to peer
behind. The one glance was sufficient. Underneath was an opening in
the wall, much less in width than the picture, yet ample for the
passage of a crouched body. The arm of the sofa made egress
comparatively easy, while the frame of the picture, though appearing
heavy and substantial, was in reality of light wood, and presented no
obstacle to an active man. The passage was black, and I thrust my head
and shoulders in, striving to discern something of its nature. For
possibly three feet I could trace the floor, but beyond that point it
seemed to disappear into impenetrable darkness. This line of change
was so distinct that I surmised at once it marked a descent to a lower
level, either by ladder or stairs. Well, this would benefit me, rather
than otherwise, for if anyone was concealed therein it would be down
below, where the light streaming into the upper passage, as I pressed
back the frame to gain room for my body, would be unnoticed.
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