The door they had hidden all these years was painted dark green; just an old ordinary door with a brown china doorknob, but Portia jumped up to have a look at it, and everyone else came running. Uncle Jake waggled the knob uselessly and gave the door a kick or two. "Locked, of course," he said. "But not bolted inside, I trust. Even Mrs. Brace-Gideon couldn't depart from a house leaving every door bolted _inside_." "Maybe she departed from a window the way we did," Foster suggested, but no one listened to him. Uncle Jake brought a jumble of keys from his pocket. "From Gone-Away: old keys from other old locks," he explained. "Uncle Pin's idea. He thought that one might fit." One did, too. Almost the very first one. It turned nicely in the keyhole, and they could hear the lock give way, but the green door, set in its ways after half a century asleep, absolutely refused to budge. Mr. Blake sighed heavily. "You know, you don't just _buy_ this house," he said. "No. You have to go to war with it, you have to conquer it! All right, Jake, let's go." The two big men put their shoulders to the door and gave a tremendous shove, as Mr. Blake turned the knob. The first try didn't work, nor did the second, but on the third the door burst open, and they almost fell in. The others crowded close on their heels, Foster and Davey burrowing under arms and elbows like a pair of beagles. A cloud of dust fumed up from the floor. As it cleared, they found themselves coughing and sneezing in a dim passageway. "I suppose this--" Mrs. Blake was starting to say when all at once Uncle Jake, who was ahead, gave a mighty yell and a leap backward. "Great Scott!" shouted Mr. Blake at the same instant, and Foster, whimpering, turned to scramble for his mother. "There's somebody there! A ghost, a ghost!" Most of them, shocked, had caught a glimpse of it: a figure standing in the passage, standing very still, as though it had been waiting for them. 4 _The Victors_ "Well, this is ridiculous; there can't possibly be anybody there," Uncle Jake said, looking both annoyed and sheepish. "We must be suffering from battle fatigue," Mr. Blake agreed. "Let's solve this thing right now!" And he whipped out a flashlight. The two men strode purposefully through the doorway. Julian followed, looking rather more tentative than purposeful. "Oh, Paul, be careful," quavered Mrs. Blake, and Aunt Hilda, who was her sister, quavered: "Jake, don't do anything rash!" But they had hardly time to say the words before they heard a boom of laughter. Uncle Jake stuck his head out. "Come in, all of you, and see the watchdog Mrs. Brace-Gideon left to guard the door she couldn't bolt!"