Had he found the secret door? Running to the centre, she tried to judge where the knocking came from. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. Come close to me, and let me hold your hand, dear. It was Celeste’s idea. “My word holds,” she said. Sir James Thornhill, then, rose. In a side-glance—for the floor was variously encumbered with overturned objects—he saw one of his paper weights, a coloured glass ball such as McClintock used in trade.
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