There was so little wood-work about the house that there was not much chance for secret panels or closets. The doors were of oak—solid oak, for he tested them thoroughly with his hammer. The book-cases offered not the slightest evidence of any hiding-place; the desk he examined several times, finding the compartment of which Everet had told him, but no other, although he critically examined every portion of it. The floor was of brick, paved in herring-bone patterns, but there was no indication that a single brick had ever been removed for any purpose whatever, although he inspected the whole surface with the utmost care. At last, wearied out with his fruitless efforts, he sat down in the chair before the desk, to rest and to think. “I am confident,” he muttered, “that the man must have made a will, and that there are other papers existing, representing a large amount of property. I believe he cunningly concealed them during his lifetime, thinking that when he came to die he would have warning enough to enable him to confide his secret to some trustworthy person.” He looked up at the ceiling; he closely scrutinized the window casings and the fire-place. But there wasn’t a crack nor a crevice that promised a revelation of any kind. Suddenly an idea struck him, and he hastily arose from his chair. It was a stout office chair, cushioned with leather that was nailed to the frame. He turned it bottom side up. Nothing but solid wood met his gaze. He set it upright again and passed his hand over the cushion. It was springless and to all appearance had never been disturbed since it was first nailed to the chair. After thinking a moment, Colonel Mapleson took his jackknife from his pocket and deliberately cut the cover entirely off. Only a scant layer of curled hair lay beneath, closely matted and filled with dust. He removed this, and instantly an exclamation of satisfaction escaped him, for there, in the bottom of the chair, he had discovered a square lid, so cunningly and smoothly fitted in its place that no one would ever have suspected it was there. A tiny leather strap indicated how it was to be lifted from its place. He eagerly removed it, and, underneath, discovered a small japanned trunk about twelve inches square. It was the work of but a moment to take it from its cunning place of concealment, where it had lain undisturbed for so many years, and set it upon the desk before him. Then he sat down again, and gravely looked at it, while he actually trembled with excitement, and drops of perspiration stood all over his face. It was strange that the unearthing of another man’s secrets should affect him thus, and it almost seemed as if he shrank with a sort of superstitious terror from examining the contents of that inoffensive-looking trunk.