Death in the Primrose Hotel – Chapter 3 cont’d…

I walked around the speakeasy once to take in the surroundings and then made another closer, slower lap around looking for anything out of the ordinary. Tom Forsythe stared at me as I walked the perimeter of the room.
As I walked around I ran my fingertips over the woodwork paying particular attention to the joinery; the places where the wood panels were joined together, looking, or rather feeling, for anything that felt unusual. My finger tips found a vertical joint in the woodwork hidden near a corner that didn’t quite feel right. I looked and saw that the joint wasn’t as tightly fit together as the rest of the fine woodwork. I ran my fingers over the misaligned joint. It didn’t feel like the rest of the joinery in the speakeasy. I gently pressed against the misaligned joint. The wall seemed to move almost imperceptibly at my touch. I put my weight against the wall. It moved. I searched all around the seam for any type of an opening device. Finally I found the latch on the baseboard near the corner almost completely buried in the seventy some years of accumulated dust and cobwebs. I pulled the latch and the wall jerkily opened amidst the screeching protestations of the dry, dust filled hinges.
“Detective,” I called. Tom Forsythe walked over to me closely followed by Vanessa. I pointed through the open wall. It had to be a tunnel. The weak light from the speakeasy illuminated only the first foot or two before it was eaten up by the tunnel’s darkness. A cold draft blew into the speakeasy from the mysterious opening.
“What the hell?” Tom Forsythe said, partially out loud and partially to himself as he stared into the darkness. I joined him in staring into the void.


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