“We’ll ask Hughie,” he said.

And so with Hannah scoffing but noticeably on ahead with the lamp, they climbed the stairs and tore the room to pieces—­to no avail.  In a final burst of inspiration Hughie dragged the faded carpet from its tacks and filled the room with dust.  Sneezing and coughing, they faced each other in the melee with looks of blank discouragement.  Even Kenny’s inexhaustible energy and excitement seemed on the point of waning.  He stared drearily at the fireplace.

“It’s cold in here,” he said, shivering.

“Yes,” said Joan, “we should have built a fire.”

“The fireplace!” cried Hughie hoarsely.

“It’s too late now,” said Kenny irritably.  “I’m chilled through.”

“No, no, Mr. O’Neill, I’m not meaning the fire.  It’s the one place we haven’t looked.”

“It won’t hurt none to look, Mr. O’Neill,” urged Hannah, who knew that Kenny’s energy was subject to undependable ebb and now.  “If Hughie goes out of here with that fireplace on his mind, he’ll dream all night about it.”

Kenny strode to the fireplace with Hughie at his heels and jerked impatiently at the mantel.  It was sturdy and unyielding.

“I feared so,” he said with a shrug.

Hughie seized the lamp.

“Hold the lamp, Mr. O’Neill,” he begged, crouching.  “I’ve got to look at them bricks.  Careful, sir!  You’re tipping it.”

Huddled in the glare of the lamp they stared in fascination at the smoky bricks.

“The bricks are loose!” exclaimed Hughie.  “Look here!” He rattled one with his finger.

Kenny emitted a long low whistle of intense amazement.

“Hughie, where’s your knife?” he flung out wildly.  “I think we’re on the trail!”

“The lamp’s shaking!” warned Hannah.  “Let me hold it.”

“Oh, my God!” gasped Hughie with the dot fever flaring in his honest eyes.  “That ain’t mortar.  It’s only ashes.  Look!”

Kenny frantically pulled out a brick and dropped it with a clatter.  Another and another.

“Hold the lamp closer, Hannah!” directed Hughie, reaching within.  “There’s something here!”

Shaking violently he pulled forth a battered box and flung back the lid.  It was stuffed to the brim with ragged money.

“Glory be to God!” cried Kenny and proceeded to pull the mantel down.

But he found no more.

“And to think of him burrowin’ there in the bricks,” marveled Hannah, “and him that weak a child could push him over.”

“Ah!” said Kenny, “but his will was strong.”

He counted the money with trembling fingers and a smile, curiously pleased and tender, and declared his belief that the doctor was right.  The ragged hoarding—­he shivered slightly with revulsion as he touched a tattered bill—­represented the rest, residue and remainder of Adam’s wealth wheresoever situate.  And thanks to Hughie’s inspiration the executor had found it.