The Adventure of the Travertine Nose - Part XIII

"Do not panic," Basil says steadily, squeezing your hand.
"What? Why? Who?..." you stutter.
"I don't know. But it didn't close on its own, did it. The thing weighs a ton. That doesn't matter right now. We need to find a way out of here."
You climb the ladder and start hammering on the underside of the stone. Basil drops the flashlight and climbs up the ladder beside you. He grabs your fists and tries to calm you down. Granted, you aren't handling things very well.
Finally, you're calm again. He grabs the flashlight and asks, "Do you really think the person who just took the trouble to lock us down here is going to let us up again?"
"I suppose not."
"We have to find a way out. It's a maze down here. Here, you take the flashlight, I'm going to walk forward an try to find a door or a window. You shine it in my direction. There's got to be something, somewhere."
You want to believe there might be, but the chances seem grim. To your amazement, he soon uncovers two barred windows and a hopelessly sealed-up door. Pry as you might, it isn't budging.
"Someone's taken a lot of trouble to secure this space," he notes thoughtlessly.
You're already having trouble breathing. You know it's your imagination, but that might only mean you're about to die of imagination.
"The ground slopes here," he explains, "We're not really in a basement. This area has to have some relationship to the castle itself."
"A prison," you add.
"Don't be depressing. It was probably for storage, not people. That's why it's ventilated. It can't be a priest's hole, since it spans the length of several rooms. Maybe it was a wine cellar. Or part of the kitchen. It must connect to something."
You like his logic. You love it, in fact. And he's right. It's far too large a space to be a secret. You're practically running now, tripping over antique junk to keep up with him. You have to close your ears to the sounds of scrabbling rodents.
"Basil!" You've stopped short. You're pointing at a painting of three people, gathered around a harpsichord. The black checkerboard floor is a dead giveaway.
Basil comes back to you. "Looks like a Vermeer."
"It IS a Vermeer! It's called 'The Concert'. It was stolen from a museum in Boston in 1990 and is still missing."
"Well, it's not missing anymore."
"Oh my God, Basil! Look at this!"
"That's not a Vermeer is it? It's not very good."
You're both looking at a loose beachscape, with a sketch quality to it.
"It IS very good. It's a Monet. It's called 'Marine.' Don't you remember? It was stolen from a museum in Brazil. The thieves took advantage of a passing parade and disappeared into the crowd with a Picasso, a Dali, a Matisse, and this."
"Could this be the Matisse?" he asks.
You gasp. "Luxembourg Garden!" It's even more beautiful than you'd have imagined.
"So, now we know why we aren't supposed to be down here. These people are serious criminals. Doesn't bode well for our escape, does it."
You're so engrossed in the paintings, you momentarily forgot about your predicament.
"You're right," you agree, shivering again.
"Let's keep looking."
It's over an hour before he spots something. It's a tall outline... a door. It isn't sealed with cement, only nailed over with planks. As soon as you shine the light on it, Basil begins to throw himself against the door. You hear him making injured noises, and see him wincing at each renewed heave. A rusty nail or two has caught him on the sleeve and torn his jacket. Blood is beginning to show through the tan fabric.
"Basil, you can't keep doing that," you panic.
"Got to," he groans, slamming into the door again. There's finally a noise, from the door this time. Encouraged, he backs up and makes a running start. You cover your face. More splintering. You drop the flashlight and meet him at the far wall. The door of you begin to run and simultaneously throw yourselves against the door. With a grinding crack, it opens. You are back in the parlor, laying on the floor in front of the fire. A panel in the wall has opened and it's still revolving. Just before it reunites with the wall, Basil rushes inside it. It grates back into place, leaving no sign behind. Now, you are just a lone person, lying on the floor of the parlor.
"What's happening in here?" Lady Rackrent asks, rushing in breathlessly.

You are reluctant to confide in Lady Rackrent, harmless though she may look in that ridiculous moo moo. It'd be easy enough to and say you tripped on the andirons. If Lady Rackrent's involved in the art thefts, you certainly don't want to confide in her. Chose 'A'.

But if you really can't compose yourself in time, maybe you're more inclined to blurt out what just happened. You don't really think she is involved in the thefts. Chose 'B'.