Adventure, December 1914 — page 147: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

A Man With Nine Lives had apparently never been touched with a duster for years. Not only was the frame almost obscured, but the picture itself was covered with such an accumulation of dirt that it was not easy to make out if it was good or bad. Adair lifted it down one morning to see what was on the back; he had learned to look on everything which the room con- tained as having something about it which was not upon the surface. He jthought that he could examine that picture to more advantage if he had it at close quarters. Directly he got the picture down he found that at any rate there was something odd about the wall against which it had been hanging. There was one of those in- dentations on its surface which he had learned to know always meant something. The wall was not papered; it had originally been painted a sort of stone-blue, but that was Many years ago. Where that indentation was, not only the paint but the plaster was broken away. Part of what seemed like an iron knob, which had once been hidden, was seen quite plainly. Adair pressed it; a sort of panel, some six inches square, came open—and there was a door handle. He turned the handle; a door, yielding, revealed an aper- ture which was just large enough for a person to squeeze through. It was raised perhaps eighteen inches from the floor; there were steps beyond, which descended through a narrow, winding sort of tunnel. “Where does that goto?” he asked him- self. ‘‘What’s beneath this room? Canit be a sort of secret passage to the street? There’s a house on the other side of this wall, and beneath these rooms there are offices. What’s the name of the people to whom they belong? Latraille, Olgano & Co. I’ve seen the name often enough in the board at the door.” He hesitated, then decided to push his investigation further. It was not very easy. If not very broad, he was more than usually tall. He had difficulty in squeezing through the narrow doorway. “Tf I stick fast I’m done. Since the whole place is steel-plated I may call and call; even if any one hears they won’t be able to come to my assistance. So let us hope that I shan’t stick.” He almost did, more than once. The steps seemed too narrow when he had de- scended two or three; for some interesting 10 145 moments he thought that he really had got jammed. He held his breath to make him- self as small as possible. He writhed and struggled, then found himself on a lower step, and a lower; then, squeezing round a corner, he was in utter darkness. The light had vanished from above, by reason of the turnings and twistings of the steps; there was blackness below. He descended another step or two, then came into con- tact with what seemed to be a blank wall. ‘This is extremely nice! I suppose I’ve ruined my clothes, if I haven’t torn most of them right off me; it isn’t likely that these walls are spotless. I must have wiped them clean. I have perhaps removed from them the deposits of ages. What’s this thing in front?” He struck out with the palm of his hand. “Is that a wall? Oradoor? I believe it’s a door. Somehow it had a hollow sound.” He struck again. “Itisa door. HowamI to get it open.”’ He moved his hand over the surface. ‘““That feels like a handle. It is. How do you open the thing? Naturally, since it once had something to do with old Creed, there’s some trick about it; of course it doesn’t turn like an ordinary Christian handle. Push, pull, right, left; hullo! “T don’t know what I did, but something yielded—the door is open. It seems to be smaller than the one I came in by; this is going to be a squeeze. I have got through alive; if it had been one inch smaller in any direction I never should. Pray, where and what may this place be? It looks as if it might be an office. I believe it is. Sure——” He strode forward. He was standing in a good-sized room in which was the usual furniture of the ordinary office; desks, writing-tables, leather-seated chairs, deed- boxes on shelves, a painted cupboard, a shabby bookcase through whose glass doors, dim with dust, could be seen what might be a miscellaneous collection of odd volumes treating of the law. As he neared the writ- ing-table which stood in the centre there was a clicking sound. He stopped, staring about him. ‘“‘What was that? It seemed to come from the table. More diversions? Can this be the office under Creed’s chambers, in the occupancy of Messrs. Latraille, Olgano & Company? Can the gentlemen belonging to those high-sounding names be myths, or dummies; and was the business carried on here a branch of that done by Mr. MICLOOOK C©