‘You would be no match for the thief, even if he came alone, which we are not certain he would. No, my dear Mr. Wincher, I will engage a properly qualified watchman; but remember, not one word of this to Miss Sivewright—or to your wife, who might be tempted to tell her young mistress.’ ‘Very well, sir. I know how to hold my tongue. I’d be the last to go and frighten missy. But how about my old master? Is he to know?’ ‘Not on any account. In his present weak state any violent agitation might be fatal, and we know that collecting these things has been the ruling passion of his life. To tell him that he is being robbed of these things might be to give him his death-blow.’ ‘Very well, sir. I’ll obey orders.’ ‘Good; and if I have wronged you, Mr. Wincher, by a groundless suspicion, you must pardon me. You will allow that appearances are somewhat against you.’ ‘They are, sir, they are!’ answered the old man despondently. ‘However, time will show. I will send my watchman in at dusk. You could let him in at the back door, couldn’t you, without Miss Sivewright knowing anything about it?’ ‘I could, sir. There’s a little door opening into the brewhouse, which opens out of the boothouse, as you may know.’ ‘No, indeed! I know there are a lot of outbuildings, room enough to lodge a regiment; but I have never taken any particular notice of them.’ ‘It’s a curious old place, Mr. Davoren, and goodness knows what it could have been used for in days gone by, unless it was for hiding folks away for no good. Perhaps you’d like to see the door I mean.’ ‘I should,’ replied Lucius, ‘in order that I may explain its situation to the policeman.’ ‘Come along with me then, sir, and I’ll show it you.’ CHAPTER VII. THE HIDDEN STAIRCASE. Lucius had a keen desire to explore those premises at the back of Cedar House, with a vague notion that his examination of them might throw some light upon the mystery which now filled his mind. If these Winchers were indeed innocent, which the old man’s manner and conduct inclined him to believe they must be, who was the guilty one? In that house—with the exception of its master, who in his feebleness counted for nothing—there were but three persons, Mr. and Mrs. Wincher and Lucille. One of those three must have opened the door last night; one of those three must have placed that candle in the upper window—the candle which was evidently meant for a signal. Lucille! Was reason deserting him? Was this perplexity of mind verging upon madness, when _her_ name would suggest itself in connection with that secret admittance of the stranger, and that theft which was no doubt its direct consequence? Lucille, that gentle and innocent girl! What had she to do with the solution of this dark enigma? The mere thought of her in connection with this nefarious business tortured him. Yet the idea, once having occurred to him, was not easily to be dismissed.