So far as two men could explore minutely the interior of a house so eccentrically designed—on a plan that seemed indeed to affect an absence of all design—as “Delsrop,” Mr. Tuke and his guest did explore during the whole of that winter morning. They measured walls and doors; they tapped for vaults¹, secret panels, or intermural recesses³. They went down into the “Priest’s Hole,” and convinced themselves that no hiding-place had been contrived⁵ anywhere in that well of dank and solid masonry⁶. They looked up chimneys; stamped on flags in hope of answering reverberations; prodded⁷ at ceilings hither and thither⁸ with a view to the discovery of some cunningly concealed⁹ hollow wherein it was possible the thing they sought might lie with all its crimson¹⁰ lustre¹¹ quenched¹² in dusk and darkness.

 

And it was only a complication of the puzzle that “Delsrop’s” antecessor had left its rooms—with one exception—desolate and unfurnished; inasmuch as any chair or table or bureau would have offered itself a likelier depository for a treasure so self-contained. What could be done with bare walls and floors and ceilings but punch and measure them? This the searchers did, with all the thoroughness they could contrive⁴, and with a proportionate absence of result. They even extended their

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