There was mystery to this house, and perhaps here I had already stumbled upon the secret.
I opened the door leading to the rear, silently, and listened.

There were voices talking at a distance, two women, one a pleasant contralto, the other cracked and high pitched.

The lady was doing her part; I must do mine.

I closed the door gently, and stole over toward the picture, half afraid of my task, yet nerving myself for the ordeal.
A black haircloth sofa, with broad mahogany arm, offered two easy steps, enabling me to tip the heavy frame sufficiently so as to peer behind.

The one glance was sufficient.