aperture.
‘It goes some way,’ I said, over Annabelle’s shoulder.
‘Come on, Ethelred,’ said Annabelle. ‘The two of us should check this out together.’
‘Or better still, all three of us,’ said Elsie.
And so, one by one, all three of us stepped through the opening into a stone-floored passageway.
The torchlight showed that the walls on either side were rough, unpolished oak panels. The ceiling was low enough that my hair brushed it once or twice, but not so low that it
felt claustrophobic. In a couple of places there were brackets for candles, but there were also electric light fittings – black bakelite, maybe dating back eighty years or so to a time that I
still think of as ‘early this century’.
We followed the passage for a short distance before reaching a dead end. A quick investigation with the torch revealed a wooden lever, and pulling on the lever opened another panel. We found
ourselves in the billiard room, blinking in the sunlight that was streaming through the windows.
Of course, the passage, like everything else at Muntham Court, was a piece of Victorian whimsy. Just as the architect had added Jacobean strapwork to the exterior, he had thought fit to provide
a secret passage for the amusement of his client and perhaps of his client’s guests. It was a neat nineteenth-century rationalization of the cramped and twisting secret passages of more
ancient buildings. The candles, and later the electric light, would have permitted an entertaining, but completely comfortable, transfer between two of the male strongholds of the house. Its later
neglect, demonstrated by the antiquity of the electrical wiring, suggested that the house’s more recent owners had had no use for it.
‘A way in and out,’ said Annabelle thoughtfully. ‘You realize what this means?’
Elsie said nothing but took the torch from Annabelle and retraced her steps, vanishing for a moment round the corner. She quickly returned.
‘Not a way in,’ she said. ‘There must have been a lever, like at this end, but it has broken off at some stage. Can’t get the panel to budge. You can get out of the
library this way, but not in – or at least you can get in only if whoever is in the library opens the panel for you.’
‘This is important,’ I said. ‘We need to tell the police.’
‘Yes,’ said Annabelle. ‘We shall tell the police . . . when we need to. But we don’t want them taking over things just yet – they haven’t exactly been Sherlock
Holmes. Let’s gather all the information we can first. You still need to talk to the others.’
‘I don’t think I’ll find out much more . . .’ I said.
‘Of course you will,’ said Annabelle. ‘You were so clever finding this passage. You can do anything.’
And she gave me a little kiss on the cheek.
Ten
‘So,’ I said to Ethelred, once we were alone together. ‘Let me reconstruct things for you.’
‘We’ve just done that,’ he said, a slight note of irritation in his voice. ‘Annabelle made you sit there, then I—’
‘Not the murder. I mean the little farce that has just been enacted for our benefit.’
‘But—’
‘Oh, come on. Ethelred, wonderful Ethelred, just go and stand by that random bit of panelling for no reason at all.’
‘Annabelle doesn’t speak like that,’ said Ethelred. ‘You make her sound whiny and high pitched . . .’
‘It’s close enough for our purposes,’ I pointed out. ‘I don’t claim to be Rory Bremner. Now, wonderful Ethelred, why don’t you press
the random bit of panelling? No, press the totally random bit of panelling harder. Well, I’m amazed! A secret passage in my own sweet little house! And I never suspected. Who would have
believed it?’
‘She doesn’t talk like that,’ said Ethelred. ‘If Annabelle says she didn’t know about the passage . . . What?’
‘Let’s begin with the killer’s footprints on the dusty floor of the passageway,’ I said.
‘I didn’t see
‘It goes some way,’ I said, over Annabelle’s shoulder.
‘Come on, Ethelred,’ said Annabelle. ‘The two of us should check this out together.’
‘Or better still, all three of us,’ said Elsie.
And so, one by one, all three of us stepped through the opening into a stone-floored passageway.
The torchlight showed that the walls on either side were rough, unpolished oak panels. The ceiling was low enough that my hair brushed it once or twice, but not so low that it
felt claustrophobic. In a couple of places there were brackets for candles, but there were also electric light fittings – black bakelite, maybe dating back eighty years or so to a time that I
still think of as ‘early this century’.
We followed the passage for a short distance before reaching a dead end. A quick investigation with the torch revealed a wooden lever, and pulling on the lever opened another panel. We found
ourselves in the billiard room, blinking in the sunlight that was streaming through the windows.
Of course, the passage, like everything else at Muntham Court, was a piece of Victorian whimsy. Just as the architect had added Jacobean strapwork to the exterior, he had thought fit to provide
a secret passage for the amusement of his client and perhaps of his client’s guests. It was a neat nineteenth-century rationalization of the cramped and twisting secret passages of more
ancient buildings. The candles, and later the electric light, would have permitted an entertaining, but completely comfortable, transfer between two of the male strongholds of the house. Its later
neglect, demonstrated by the antiquity of the electrical wiring, suggested that the house’s more recent owners had had no use for it.
‘A way in and out,’ said Annabelle thoughtfully. ‘You realize what this means?’
Elsie said nothing but took the torch from Annabelle and retraced her steps, vanishing for a moment round the corner. She quickly returned.
‘Not a way in,’ she said. ‘There must have been a lever, like at this end, but it has broken off at some stage. Can’t get the panel to budge. You can get out of the
library this way, but not in – or at least you can get in only if whoever is in the library opens the panel for you.’
‘This is important,’ I said. ‘We need to tell the police.’
‘Yes,’ said Annabelle. ‘We shall tell the police . . . when we need to. But we don’t want them taking over things just yet – they haven’t exactly been Sherlock
Holmes. Let’s gather all the information we can first. You still need to talk to the others.’
‘I don’t think I’ll find out much more . . .’ I said.
‘Of course you will,’ said Annabelle. ‘You were so clever finding this passage. You can do anything.’
And she gave me a little kiss on the cheek.
Ten
‘So,’ I said to Ethelred, once we were alone together. ‘Let me reconstruct things for you.’
‘We’ve just done that,’ he said, a slight note of irritation in his voice. ‘Annabelle made you sit there, then I—’
‘Not the murder. I mean the little farce that has just been enacted for our benefit.’
‘But—’
‘Oh, come on. Ethelred, wonderful Ethelred, just go and stand by that random bit of panelling for no reason at all.’
‘Annabelle doesn’t speak like that,’ said Ethelred. ‘You make her sound whiny and high pitched . . .’
‘It’s close enough for our purposes,’ I pointed out. ‘I don’t claim to be Rory Bremner. Now, wonderful Ethelred, why don’t you press
the random bit of panelling? No, press the totally random bit of panelling harder. Well, I’m amazed! A secret passage in my own sweet little house! And I never suspected. Who would have
believed it?’
‘She doesn’t talk like that,’ said Ethelred. ‘If Annabelle says she didn’t know about the passage . . . What?’
‘Let’s begin with the killer’s footprints on the dusty floor of the passageway,’ I said.
‘I didn’t see
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