I was restless, and kept going round the panelling, as I had so often gone fruitlessly, pressing the spines of every rose, and the leaves and buds, in search of the hiding-place I always said must be there. Pierce lay watching me with contented eyes which had a spark of amusement in them. "I am quite sure it is here," I said, pausing opposite to him. "Listen, doesn't the panel ring hollow?" I tapped with my finger, and he listened. "There may be only the wall behind," he said, "but it certainly does ring hollow." "If there is a hiding-place it should be easily discovered," he said again. "I have always found a singular innocence in those contrivances." Now each panel fitted in squarely, being carved separately and set into the wall, so that a door might be suspected of any one of them. I went tapping and pushing in a dissatisfied way round about the room, and finally came back again to the panel that rang hollow. On the leaves in many places there were little beetles of the kind we call lady-birds. They had specially exercised my mind, for they stood much above the surface of the carving. But, after all, it was Pierce who discovered the little door, not I. "Do you see that fellow about the middle of the left-hand side, Hilda?" he said. "Near your hand now? Yes, that is the one." "I have tried him over and over, for he has tentacles, and the others have none." "Try to twist him instead of pressing him." I tried, and thought he moved ever so slightly. I tried again: yes, there was no doubt he turned with my hand, but I had little purchase on him. "I know," said I. "I'll get Oona's hammer, and see what that will do." The claw-end of the hammer just caught the little beetle. I gave it a wrench and a turn, and there was the click of a bolt. Then, a little clink, and the panel opened towards me. It was simply a door in the wall, where I had been looking for a sliding panel all the time. I looked at Pierce with expectant triumph. He was nearly as excited as I. The light poured full into the little cupboard. There was an Indian box of lacquer inlaid with mother-of-pearl and gold. A little gold key stood in it. I handed it to Pierce, and drew out next a pair of white gloves with tarnished gilt tassels at the wrist. Then a tiny riding-whip. Next a case containing a miniature of a handsome young man. That was all. Not a scrap of writing--not a word by which we could guess at what time the girl had lived who must have gone away so suddenly leaving all her treasures hidden in the wall. I opened the lacquer box with a hand that trembled. Inside it was divided into little square boxes, surrounding a larger box in the middle. "This first," said I, lifting the cover. Within there was nothing but a faint perfumed dust in the corners, and a tiny bit of blue ribbon. "Ah!" said Pierce. "All that remains of Dulcinea's breast-knot."