Fortunately, The Author put it in his coat in the closet and
locked the door on the outside. You can enter any room in the Hynds
House through those closet-walls, Sophy. They're paneled, remember.
I hated to have to go through The Author's pockets like a burglar,
but I had to have the key."
He handed me the flash-light.
"Now for the column of dots, each of which represents a brick," he
said, and began to count, from the first dark brick immediately
under the center of the triangle. At the third brick he paused; I
could see his fingers moving around the white line that, apparently,
held it in place. And that third brick, which looked so solidly
placed, turned as upon a pivot and swung out sideways. Still
counting from top to bottom, he paused at the fifth, the seventh,
and the ninth, and they, too, behaved in the same manner. As the
ninth one turned, that which had seemed a section of solid wall rose
soundlessly from the floor and left in its place an opening, a door,
as it were, some six feet high and about eighteen inches wide.
"It is not brick at all, but painted wood. A really wonderful bit of
work," explained Mr. Jelnik.
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