Certainly, in daylight,
Sunnyside deserved its name: never was a house more cheery and
open, less sinister in general appearance. There was not a
corner apparently that was not open and above-board, and
yet, somewhere behind its handsomely papered walls I believed
firmly that there lay a hidden room, with all the possibilities
it would involve.
I made a mental note to have the house measured during the day,
to discover any discrepancy between the outer and inner walls,
and I tried to recall again the exact wording of the paper
Jamieson had found.
The slip had said "chimney." It was the only clue, and a house
as large as Sunnyside was full of them. There was an open
fireplace in my dressing-room, but none in the bedroom, and as I
lay there, looking around, I thought of something that made me
sit up suddenly. The trunk-room, just over my head, had an open
fireplace and a brick chimney, and yet, there was nothing of the
kind in my room. I got out of bed and examined the opposite wall
closely. There was apparently no flue, and I knew there was none
in the hall just beneath. The house was heated by steam, as I
have said before. In the living-room was a huge open fireplace,
but it was on the other side.
Why did the trunk-room have both a radiator and an open
fireplace? Architects were not usually erratic! It was not
fifteen minutes before I was up-stairs, armed with a tape-measure
in lieu of a foot-rule, eager to justify Mr. Jamieson's
opinion of my intelligence, and firmly resolved not to tell him
of my suspicion until I had more than theory to go on.
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