This he could
not at once open. It was secured, however, with a common lock, which
cost him scarcely any trouble. It opened on a little room, of about
nine feet by seven. He went in. It contained nothing but an
old-fashioned secretary or bureau, and a seat like a low
music-stool.
"It may have been a vestry for the priest!" thought Donal; "but it
must have been used later than the chapel, for this desk is not
older than the one at The Mains, which mistress Jean said was made
for her grandmother!"
Then how did it get into the place? There was no other door! Above
the bureau was a small window, or what seemed a window doubtful with
dirt; but door there was not! It was not too large to enter by the
oak door, but it could not have got to it along any of the passages
he had come through! It followed that there must, and that not so
very long ago, have been another entrance to the place in which he
stood!
He turned to look at the way he had himself come: it was through a
common press of painted deal, filling the end of the little room,
there narrowed to about five feet. When the door in the back of it
was shut, it looked merely a part of the back of the press.
He turned again to the bureau, with a strange feeling at his heart.
The cover was down, and on it lay some sheets of paper, discoloured
with dust and age. A pen lay with them, and beside was an ink-bottle
of the commonest type, the ink in powder and flakes.
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