Two Little Travellers by B.M. Croker

Chūnnee had now received his answer; he stole forth, and crept like a shadow from wall to wall, down a series of narrow paths, till he came to a house standing alone in an open space -- a notable abode, for a tree grew through the roof. There was no gate to the outer yard, no dog. The door was closed -- needless to try it; he must work his way through the mud wall at the back, and crawl in. The baking of many seasons' suns had effectually hardened this impediment, and he strove for an hour, listening for sounds with intense trepidation, whilst the sweat poured down his face. At last he had scraped a sufficiently large aperture -- he was slender to leanness. He crept through, but his usual bad luck pursued him; his head came violently against a brass chattie that fell with a clang enough to waken the dead. It effectually aroused the old man, who awoke and struck a match, and showed Chūnnee that he had come too late!

The light displayed a deep hole in the floor, an empty hole. The door was ajar; the treasure was already stolen; and Chūnnee stood there, krooplie in hand, with the cavity in the wall to speak for him -- the convicted thief!