“Now listen, dear,” he said firmly, “this isn’t as hard as it sounds.  I’ve got a clear night to work in—­and as true as I’m standing here, that money’s in this house.  Listen, honey—­it’s like this.”  He pantomimed the old nursery rhyme of The House that Jack Built, “Here’s the house that Courtleigh Fleming built—­here, somewhere, is the Hidden Room in the house that Courtleigh Fleming built—­and here—­somewhere—­pray Heaven—­is the money—­in the Hidden Room —­in the house that Courtleigh Fleming built.  When you’re low in your mind, just say that over!”

She managed a faint smile.  “I’ve forgotten it already,” she said, drooping.

He still strove for an offhand gaiety that he did not feel.

“Why, look here!” and she followed the play of his hands obediently, like a tired child, “it’s a sort of game, dearest.  ’Money, money—­ who’s got the money?’ You know!” For the dozenth time he stared at the unrevealing walls of the room.  “For that matter,” he added, “the Hidden Room may be behind these very walls.”

He looked about for a tool, a poker, anything that would sound the walls and test them for hollow spaces.  Ah, he had it—­that driver in the bag of golf clubs over in the corner.  He got the driver and stood wondering where he had best begin.  That blank wall above the fireplace looked as promising as any.  He tapped it gently with the golf club—­afraid to make too much noise and yet anxious to test the wall as thoroughly as possible.  A dull, heavy reverberation answered his stroke—­nothing hollow there apparently.

As he tried another spot, again thunder beat the long roll on its iron drum outside, in the night.  The lights blinked—­wavered—­ recovered.

“The lights are going out again,” said Dale dully, her excitement sunk into a stupefied calm.

“Let them go!  The less light the better for me.  The only thing to do is to go over this house room by room.”  He pointed to the billiard room door.  “What’s in there?”

“The billiard room.”  She was thinking hard.  “Jack!  Perhaps Courtleigh Fleming’s nephew would know where the blue-prints are!”

He looked dubious.  “It’s a chance, but not a very good one,” he said.  “Well—­” He led the way into the billiard room and began to rap at random upon its walls while Dale listened intently for any echo that might betray the presence of a hidden chamber or sliding panel.

Thus it happened that Lizzie received the first real thrill of what was to prove to her—­and to others—­a sensational and hideous night.  For, coming into the living-room to lay a cloth for Mr. Anderson’s night suppers not only did the lights blink threateningly and the thunder roll, but a series of spirit raps was certainly to be heard coming from the region of the billiard room.

“Oh, my God!” she wailed, and the next instant the lights went out, leaving her in inky darkness.  With a loud shriek she bolted out of the room.