"Uncle John's room!" whispered Margaret. "It must be, of course; and this is where the locked door is on the second story. Come along, girls; we ought not to go prying into people's rooms!" "My faith, I cannot see that!" retorted Rita. "If there were anything of interest in the room,--but nothing--a plain room, and nothing more! A pretty thing to end a secret staircase; he should have shame for it. But come, as you say; we have yet a way to go down." They closed the door carefully, and once more began the descent. Down--down--down. But this second half of the way was different. The staircase was wider, and the walls were cased in wood. Moreover, it showed marks of usage. The steps above were covered with thick dust, evidently long undisturbed; but these were clean and shining. Decidedly, the mystery was deepening. "Suppose we find it is just a back way to the servants' rooms!" whispered practical Margaret. "Suppose feedle-dee-dee!" said Rita; and her funny little foreign accent on the word made Peggy choke and splutter behind her. Now they were evidently approaching the ground floor, for sounds were audible below them: a footstep, and then the clink of metal, as if some one were moving fire-irons. "Elizabeth, probably!" whispered Margaret. "What shall we say to her?" "Let's yell and rush out and scare her!" proposed Peggy. "Hush!" said Rita. "Oh, hush! we know not who it is. Look! a gleam of light,--the crack of a door! quick, the lamp!" and with a swift, silent breath she blew out the lamp, and they were in total darkness. They now saw plainly the light that shone through the crack of a door, a few steps below them. The sounds in the room beneath had ceased. All was still for a moment; then suddenly Peggy made a false step in the dark, and stumbled; she uttered a smothered shriek, and then began to giggle. "Animal!" muttered Rita through her teeth. "Can you not be silent?" Peggy was now in front, and seeing that light came also through the keyhole, she stooped and looked through it. The next instant she uttered a dreadful shriek, and staggered back into Margaret's arms. "The man!" she cried; "the man in black velvet!" A chair was hastily pushed back in the room below; steps crossed the floor, and as Margaret flung open the door, another door at the further end of the room was seen to close softly. CHAPTER VIII. CUBA LIBRE. "But, Marguerite, when I tell you that I _know_!" "But, Rita, my dear, how _can_ you know?" "Look at me; listen to me! Have you your senses?" "Most of them, I hope." "Very well, then, attend! When stupid, stupid Peggy--I love her, observe; she is my sister, but we must admit that she is stupid,--truth, Marguerite, is the jewel of my soul--when she stumbled against the door, when she screamed, we heard sounds, did we not?" "We did!" Margaret admitted.