“It’s here, monsieur. I’ve never seen the door open, but I know where it is,” the cook said, wiping her hands on her apron and leading them to the secondary corridor. They went deeper into the service part of the chateau than Agnes had gone the day before. The corridor turned before dead-ending.
“When was the last time you were in the kitchen?” Agnes whispered to Vallotton.
“My aunt frowns on it.”
“Never?” Agnes was aghast.
He grinned at her. “When I was a boy, I used to sneak down for treats.”
“Greedy little beggars, you and Monsieur Daniel were,” the cook called over her shoulder, making Agnes laugh. “Here’s the door.” She pointed into a small room. “The old cook told me it was all ramps out to the ice house, no stairs. Built that way to carry the ice sculptures. Must have been lovely. Well, I’m back at my work now.”
The cook left and Agnes flicked on her flashlight. The storeroom had glass panes at the top of the interior wall, borrowing some light from the hall lamps. Not overly large, it was empty with a sturdy door set in the back wall. A canvas curtain was pushed into the corner. If Mulholland had pulled the curtain back then that was the reason neither Carnet nor Petit had noticed the door themselves. The door was slightly open, the heavy latch not fastened.
“This doesn’t make sense,” said Agnes. “Mulholland said he couldn’t get back in.”
“Hand me your light,” Vallotton said, opening the door all the way.
“I’m going with you.”
She followed Vallotton into the darkness. The corridor was lined with rough lumber. It was fairly wide and the stone floor sloped down gradually. There were slight grooves in the surface.
“Marks from a rolling table, I’d say. Must have used a hand cart to bring ice up.” Vallotton ran his beam along the floor before moving it ahead of them. They’d gone ten or fifteen meters when they reached another door. Vallotton tried to open it, shoving with his shoulder. It didn’t move.
“Look,” Agnes said. There was a long iron bolt at both the top and bottom of the door. “The one on the bottom must have slipped down and closed.”
Vallotton fiddled with it. “Moves easily enough. Bad luck on Mulholland’s part. Door must have swung shut and the bolt was perfectly aligned. It dropped.” He thumped the door. “It’s too thick to hear through, plus we’re well underground now. He was right, no one would have heard him here. Should we go on?”
“No, Petit and Carnet will walk the length in case—” she didn’t complete the sentence.
“I understand. Evidence about Mademoiselle Cowell’s death. I’ve told you I didn’t do it and don’t know who did. I certainly am not concealing knowledge of the tunnel to hide evidence.”
Agnes hoped not. That would end her career as fast as it put him in custody. She led the way back to the kitchen.
“Why was Mulholland down here at all?” she wondered.
He arched a skeptical eyebrow. “Bored? Maybe he likes architecture and was curious?”
“You like architecture and barely remembered it, and this is your house. Besides, your cook never saw him. If he is interested in architecture I’d think he’d ask her to reveal the secrets of the kitchen, or ask you. You could give a tour. There’s something not right about him.”
“He’s a bit of an odd one, but I know a lot of people who are far more off. He probably is bored. Maybe he was hungry in the night. Mysterious door looks interesting and he gives it a try.”
“I think the mysterious door was concealed when he found it.” Agnes thanked the cook as they retraced their steps through her domain. “Mulholland roaming around at night is, I suppose, no stranger than you working outside just now. I thought you had people to do that sort of thing for you.”
“It is my property,” Vallotton said. “Surely I don’t look that feeble?”
“Everyone else seems to be safely inside.”
“I think my brother is chomping at the bit. He’d be ice fishing or skating or something dangerous if he could walk properly. Mulholland is likely bored with the storm keeping him in. Even Mimi has outdone herself with this latest round of hide-and-seek. At least MC is entertained looking for her. Only my aunt’s routine isn’t changed by man or ice.”