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Updated: June 28, 2025
Smith enthusiastically, with his head inside his Gladstone bag. "I love these pointed sorts of rooms, like Gothic. By the way," he cried out, pointing in quite a startling way, "where does that door lead to?" "To certain death, I should say," answered Michael Moon, staring up at a dust-stained and disused trapdoor in the sloping roof of the attic.
Jose led the young man through a long, damp, evil-odored passage underground, and out through a trapdoor at the extreme end of the garden. A shrub grew on top of the door, surrounded by a bed of fragrant wild pansies. Jose kicked the staring youth away from the entrance and vanished into the earth looking, in the lantern-light like a malevolent fiend returning to the realm of everlasting fire.
The examination was satisfactory. The trapdoor appeared to be the only means of access to the roof, and between this roof and that of the next building there was a broad gulf. The position was practically impregnable. Only one thing could undo him, and that was, if the enemy should mount to the next roof and shoot from there. And even then he would have cover in the shape of the chimney.
Then it was a case of unload, with me runnin' as favorite in the Easy Mark Handicap. And now here comes Elisha P., straight out of the Trust Company, to spring the trapdoor himself. "Why, yes, Mr. Bayne," says I. "I've chewed it over some; but I ain't quite made up my mind to take it on." "You haven't!" says he, his nice, white, respectable eyebrows showin' great surprise.
He hesitated for a moment, and then knew that go he must, sooner or later. "So let it be," he said. "Bide here, you others." I turned, and led the way into the bedchamber. There I stooped and opened the trapdoor, and held the torch so that the light fell into the pit, without a word. He saw the fallen props, and the chair, and all else that told him the terrible tale.
Jimmie Dale's eyes shifted to the trapdoor, and into them crept a contemptuous and sardonic smile the man who was coming up now and hoisting himself to the floor was the man who, half an hour before, had threatened young Sammy Matthews with arrest.
Not at John Street, for it would never do to let a man like Bent Pitman know your real address; nor yet at Pitman's house, some dreadful place in Holloway, with a trapdoor in the back kitchen; a house which you might enter in a light summer overcoat and varnished boots, to come forth again piecemeal in a market-basket.
We knew how much they would stand in the way of shells on top and in the way of bombs or mines underneath. Still there was all the difference between rehearsal and the actual going on the stage. "When we crawled in through the trapdoor for the first time over, the shut-up feeling got me. I'd felt it before but not that way.
Your father met him with his gun in reach, and for a whole eternity they stood searching each other's eyes. I was at the trapdoor where I could see both of them. "To the depths of my soul I enjoyed seeing Leon take the fence and creek: but what was that, child, to compare with the timber that stood your father like a stone wall between me and forty half-naked, paint besmeared, maddened Indians?
Then, working as he talked: "I've got no time to tell you what I think of you, you pitiful hound" he snatched up the plate from the floor and put it in his pocket "Twenty years, I think you said, didn't you?" his hand shot into Malone's pocket-book, and extracted the five-dollar note "If you can open this with your toes maybe you can get a way" he wrenched the trapdoor over and slammed it shut "good-night, Malone" and he leaped for the window.
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