"There's a candle on the table, Jack, if I can find the table."
Her outstretched hands touched a familiar object. "Here it is."
She fumbled for a moment. "Have you any matches?"

"Yes." He struck one--another--lit the candle--set it down on
the table. In the weak glow of the little taper, whose tiny flame
illuminated but a portion of the living-room, his face looked
tense and strained.

"It's pretty nearly hopeless," he said, "if all the walls are
paneled like that."

As if in mockery of his words and his quest, a muffled knocking
that seemed to come from the ceiling of the very room he stood in
answered his despair.

"What's that?" gasped Dale.

They listened. The knocking was repeated--knock--knock--knock
--knock.

"Someone else is looking for the Hidden Room!" muttered Brooks,
gazing up at the ceiling intently, as if he could tear from it the
secret of this new mystery by sheer strength of will.



CHAPTER EIGHT

THE GLEAMING EYE