CHAPTER X
AN EXCITING DISCOVERY
The autumn of that year ended, the winter months came and went with alltheir holiday festivities, and spring entered in her appointed time. Thepassing winter had been filled with such varied outside activities forthe two girls, that there was little time to think of the Boarded-upHouse, and still less to do any further investigating within it. Addedto that, the cold had been so constant and intense that it would havebeen unsafe to venture into the unlighted, unheated, and unventilatedold mansion.
But, in spite of these things, its haunting story was never out of theirminds for long, and they discussed and re-discussed it in many a sparehour when they crouched cozily by themselves over the open fire duringthat long winter. It was a wonderful and appealing secret that theysomehow felt was all their own. It was better, more interesting than themost engrossing story they had ever read. And the fascination of it wasthat, though they now knew so much, they did not yet know all. Themystery of the locked room always confronted them, always lured them on!
Once, on a day that was unusually mild, they ventured into the old housefor a few moments, and looked long and intently at the Lovely Lady overthe library mantel, and at the two pretty children in the drawing-room.
"Yes, that is the boy," said Cynthia. "You can see, even there, what afine young fellow he must have made, with those big brown eyes and thatcurly golden hair. Oh, the poor mother!-- How she must have grieved, allthese years! You can see that she has never gotten over it, or she wouldhave come back here sometime. I wonder if she is alive yet!"
In the library, Joyce picked up the paper that had been discoveredthrough the help of Goliath, and looked it over curiously.
"Why in the world didn't we _read_ this paper when we found it!" sheexclaimed disgustedly. "Just see here,--the big headlines--'Fort SumterSurrenders. War Formally Declared. Troops Rushing To Washington!' Why,Cynthia, it would surely have given us the clue!"
"I don't think it would have," declared Cynthia, sceptically. "I neverwould have connected anything in the paper with what happened here."
"Sherlock Holmes would have," mused Joyce. "Well, anyway, we got at thestory in another fashion. But oh, Cynthia, will we ever know about thelocked-up room?" As Cynthia could cast no further light on this vexedquestion, they were forced to drop it.
Then came spring, and the ancient cherry-trees in the enclosure back ofthe Boarded-up House blossomed anew. One brilliant Saturday morningearly in May, the girls clambered through the fence with their books andfancy-work, to spend some of the shining hour under the white canopy ofblossoms. They were reading aloud the "Sign of Four," (they inclinedmuch toward mystery and detective stories at this time) turn and turnabout, while the one who not have the book sewed or embroidered.Presently Joyce laid down the volume with a big sigh.
"Oh, I _wish_ I were Sherlock Holmes!"]
"Oh, I _wish_ I were Sherlock Holmes!"
"Mercy! what for?" cried Cynthia. "I'm sure _I_ don't!"
"Why, do you suppose Sherlock would have been all this time getting atthe final facts about our Boarded-up House? Of course not! He'd have hadit all worked out and proved by now!" Joyce got to her feet and beganroaming about restlessly. Suddenly she stopped in front of hercompanion.
"I tell you, Cynthia, it _haunts_ me! I can't explain to you why, but Ifeel there is something we haven't discovered yet,--something we _ought_to know. It isn't just 'idle curiosity' as Professor Marlow would callit! I never knew or heard of anything that went so--so _deep_ in me asthis thing has. That poor, loving, proud mother, and her terriblemisunderstanding with her splendid son!-- He was _right_, too, I can'thelp but think. But was she in the wrong? I suppose we can't judge abouthow people felt in those days. The whole thing is so different now,--allforgotten and forgiven! But I've read that the Confederates consideredtheir cause almost a--a _religion_. So of course she would have felt theshock of what her son did, terribly. And think how he must have felt,too!
"And then to lose his life, almost in the beginning! Perhaps he and hismother might have made it all up after the war was over, if he'd onlylived. It's--it's the saddest thing I ever heard!" Cynthia had risentoo, and they linked arms, strolling up and down the little orchard asthey talked.
"I feel exactly as you do about it, though I don't often speak of it,"said Cynthia. "But, by the way, did it ever strike you that we mightfind it interesting to look over some of the books in that old library?Some of them looked very attractive to me. And even if it didn't lead toanything, at least it would be good fun to examine them. I love oldbooks! Why not do it this afternoon?"
"Just the thing!" agreed Joyce. "I've thought of that too, but we'venever had much chance to do it, till now. This afternoon, right afterlunch!"
So the afternoon found them again in the dim, musty old library,illuminating the scene extravagantly with five candles. Three sides ofthe room were lined with book-shelves, reaching nearly to the ceiling.The girls surveyed the bewildering rows of books, puzzled where tobegin.
"Oh, come over here!" decided Joyce, choosing the side opposite thefireplace. "These big volumes look so interesting." She brushed thethick dust off their backs, revealing the titles. "Look!-- They're allalike, with red backs and mottled sides." She opened one curiously."Why!--they're called 'Punch'! What a strange name! What kind of bookscan they be?" And then, on further examination,--"Oh! I see. It's acollection of English papers full of jokes and politics and that sortof thing. And this one is from way back in 1850 Why, Cynthia, these arethe most _interesting_ things!--"
But Cynthia had already extracted another volume and was absorbed in it,chuckling softly over the old-time humor. Joyce grouped the five candleson the floor and they sat down beside them, from time to time pullingout fresh volumes, reading aloud clever jokes to each other, andenjoying themselves immensely, utterly unconscious of the passingmoments.
At length they found they had skimmed through all the volumes of"Punch," the last of which was dated 1860, and had them piled up on thefloor beside them. This left a long space on the shelf from which theycame, and the methodical Cynthia presently rose to put them back. As shefitted in the first volume, her eye was suddenly caught by somethingback of the shelves, illuminated in the flickering candle-light.
"Joyce, come here!" she called in a voice of suppressed excitement. AndJoyce, who had wandered to another corner, came over in a hurry.
"What is it?"
"Look in there!" Joyce snatched a candle and held it close to theopening made by the books. Then she gave a long, low whistle.
"What do you make of it?" demanded Cynthia.
"Just what it is! And that's as 'plain as a pikestaff'--a _keyhole_!"Cynthia nodded.
"Yes, but what a strange place for it--back of those shelves!--" Theybrought another candle and examined the wall back of the shelves morecarefully. There was certainly a keyhole--a rather small one--and aroundit what appeared to be the paneling of a door, only partially visiblethrough the shreds of old, torn wall-paper that had once covered it.
"I have it!" cried Joyce, at length. "At least, I think this may be anexplanation. That's a small door, without a doubt,--perhaps to someunused closet. Maybe there was a time, when this house was new, whenthis room wasn't a library. Then somebody wanted to make it into alibrary, and fill all this side of the room with book-shelves. But thatdoor was in the way. So they had it all papered over, and just put theshelves in front of it, as though it had never been there. You see thepaper has fallen away, probably through dampness,--and the mice seem tohave eaten it too. And here's the keyhole! Isn't it _lucky_ we justhappened to take the books out that were in front of it!"
"But what are we going to do about it?" questioned Cynthia.
"_Do?_ Why, there's just one thing to do, and that is move the shelvesout somehow,--they seem to be movable, just resting on thoseend-supports,--and get at that door!"
"But suppose it's locked?"
"We'll have to take a chance on that! Come on! We can't move t
hese booksand shelves away fast enough to suit me!"
They fell to work with a zest the like of which they had not known sincetheir first entrance into the Boarded-up House. It was no easy task toremove the armfuls of books necessary to get at the door behind, andthen push and shove and struggle with the dusty shelves. In acomparatively short time, however, the floor behind them was litteredwith volumes hastily deposited, and the shelves for a space nearly ashigh as their heads were removed. Then they tore at the mouldy shreds ofwall-paper till the entire frame of the paneled wooden doorway was free.Handle there was none, it having doubtless been removed when the placewas papered. There seemed, consequently, no way to open the door. ButCynthia was equal to this emergency.
"I've seen an old chisel in the kitchen. We might pry it open withthat," she suggested.
"Go and get it!" commanded Joyce, bursting with excitement. "I thinkthis is going to be either a secret cupboard or room!"
Cynthia seized a candle and hurried away, coming back breathless withthe rusty tool.
"Now for it!" muttered Joyce. She grasped the chisel and inserted it inthe crack, pushing on it with all her might. But the door resisted, andCynthia was just uttering the despairing cry,--
"Oh, it's locked too!" when it suddenly gave way, with a whollyunexpected jerk, and flew open emitting a cloud of dust.
"Mercy!" exclaimed Joyce, between two sneezes, "That almost knocked meoff my feet. Did you ever see so much dust!" Snatching the candlesagain, they both sprang forward, expecting to gaze into the dustyinterior of some long unused cupboard or closet. They had no sooner puttheir heads into the opening, than they started back with a simultaneouscry.
The door opened on a tiny, narrow stairway, ascending into the dimnessabove!