"That?" said Edred, "Why, that's always been there. We found that when we were digging about, trying to find the treasure. Quite at the beginning, didn't we, Elf?"
And Elfrida agreed that this was so.
"Well, I scratched it, anyway," said Dickie. "Now, then, let me go ahead with the chisel."
Edred let him: he knew how clever Dickie was with his hands, for had he not made a workbox for Elfrida and a tool-chest for Edred, both with lids that fitted?
Dickie got the point of the chisel between the stones and prized and pressed—here and there, and at the other end—till the stone moved forward a little at a time, and they were able to get hold of it, and drag it out. Behind was darkness, a hollow—Dickie plunged his arm in.
"I can feel the door," he said; "it's all right."
"Let's fetch father," suggested Elfrida; "he will enjoy it so."
So he was fetched. Elfrida burst into the library where her father was busy with many lawyer's letters and papers, and also with the lawyer himself, a stout, jolly-looking gentleman in a tweed suit, not a bit like the long, lean disagreeable, black-coated lawyers you read about in books.
"Please, daddy," she cried, "we've found the treasure. Come and look."
"What treasure?—and how often have I told you not to interrupt me when I am busy?"
"Oh, well," said Elfrida, "I only thought it
