The place seemed invested with an unearthly mystery, and it was not strange, taking into consideration the life its owner had lived, and the death he had died, leaving no trace behind him of the vast possessions that had been his. “If he did not dispose of his wealth while he lived, and made no will before his death; if there is money concealed anywhere and should ever be found, it would belong to Annie Dale’s heirs, for she was his nearest kin,” Everet Mapleson murmured, as he leaned both arms on the desk before him, and looked thoughtfully out of one of the south windows. “If Geoffrey Dale Huntress proves to be her son, as I am more and more inclined to believe, he will be the heir to Robert Dale’s missing thousands. This place would be his, anyhow, if the relationship could be proved. I wonder how much land belongs with it! Zounds! I wish I knew what has become of the old chap’s money! The more I seek to penetrate this mystery, the more tantalizing it becomes; but I swear that I will never rest until I get to the bottom of it!” He struck the desk a terrific blow with his fist, in the heat of his excitement, as he uttered this vow; and the weight and force of it jarred it so that something was displaced, and clattered noisily to the floor. The young man leaned forward to see what he had done, and found that a panel, about twelve inches long and six wide, had fallen from one end of the desk. “Well, I should think it was about time for this truck to be falling to pieces, solid as it is,” he said, as he stooped to pick it up. Upon examining it, he found that there were some hinges upon one end, and that time and dampness had caused them to rust until they had fallen apart, while upon the opposite end there was a socket for a spring. “Aha! a secret compartment!” he exclaimed, his face lighting with eagerness. Bending to inspect the place from which the panel had fallen, he saw that his surmise was correct. There was a cavity, about four inches deep, in the end of the desk, just under the molding that ran around the top of it, with the other portions of the hinges attached to the top, and a small spring at the bottom. “Ye gods! there is something in it, too!” he cried, in a startled voice, and his hand actually trembled with nervous excitement as he drew forth a small black morocco case, and a package of papers, tied with red tape, which lay underneath. The case was an old-fashioned miniature case, and doubtless contained a likeness. Everet instinctively shrank from opening it for a moment, for he felt as if he were trenching upon some secret almost too sacred to be revealed. “There must have been a soft spot somewhere in the old fellow’s heart, to have kept a thing like this,” he muttered, turning it over and over in his hands. “But, ‘to the victor belong the spoils;’ I have made this discovery after everybody else has failed, and so I have a right to know what I have found.”