"I've seen an old chisel in the kitchen. We might pry it open with that," she suggested. "Go and get it!" commanded Joyce, bursting with excitement. "I think this is going to be either a secret cupboard or room!" Cynthia seized a candle and hurried away, coming back breathless with the rusty tool. "Now for it!" muttered Joyce. She grasped the chisel and inserted it in the crack, pushing on it with all her might. But the door resisted, and Cynthia was just uttering the despairing cry,-- "Oh, it's locked too!" when it suddenly gave way, with a wholly unexpected jerk, and flew open emitting a cloud of dust. "Mercy!" exclaimed Joyce, between two sneezes, "That almost knocked me off my feet. Did you ever see so much dust!" Snatching the candles again, they both sprang forward, expecting to gaze into the dusty interior of some long unused cupboard or closet. They had no sooner put their heads into the opening, than they started back with a simultaneous cry. The door opened on a tiny, narrow stairway, ascending into the dimness above! CHAPTER XI THE ROOM THAT WAS LOCKED Before Cynthia could realize what had happened or was happening, Joyce seized her and began waltzing madly around the library, alternately laughing, sobbing, hugging, and shaking her distractedly. "Stop, stop, Joyce! _Please!_" she begged breathlessly. "Have you gone crazy? You act so! What is the matter?" "_Matter!_-- You ask me _that_?" panted Joyce. "You great big _stupid_!--Why, we've discovered the way to the locked-up room!-- That's what's the matter!" Cynthia looked incredulous. "Why, certainly!" continued Joyce. "Can't you _see_? You know that room is right over this. Where else could those stairs lead, then? But come along! We'll settle all doubts in a moment!" She snatched up a candle again and led the way, Cynthia following without more ado. "Oh, Joyce! It's horribly dirty and stuffy and cobwebby in here! Couldn't we wait a few moments till some air gets in?" implored Cynthia in a muffled voice. "I sha'n't wait a moment, but you may if you wish," called back Joyce. "But I know you won't! Mind your head! These are the tiniest, lowest stairs I've ever seen!" They continued to crawl slowly up, their candles flickering low in the impoverished air of the long-inclosed place. "What if we can't open the door at the top?" conjectured Cynthia. "What if it's behind some heavy piece of furniture?" "We'll just _have_ to get in somehow!" responded Joyce. "I've gone so far now, that I believe I'd be willing to break things open with a charge of dynamite, if we couldn't get in any other way! Here I am, at the top. Now you hold my candle, and we'll see what happens!" She handed her candle to Cynthia, braced herself, and threw her whole weight against the low door, which was knobless like the one below.