The door opened wider. Then an old woman, an old woman with a wrinkled face and straggling gray hair, looked out. In one hand she held a small flashlight.
She glared at Harry and Dorothy in their masquerade costumes, and then a look of deadly fear came over her face. She uttered several wild and piercing screams and turned back into the room, still gibbering and gasping.
A second later there was the sound of something wooden moving inside the room—a sound followed by a resounding blow, as though the heavy lid of a chest had fallen.
Another wild scream and then silence.
“Oh!” gasped Dorothy. “What is it? Who is she?”
“Must be that Viney Tucker, cousin of Granny’s,” exclaimed Harry. “But what was she doing up here? We must have frightened the wits out of her. And I’m afraid something has happened.”
He hurried into the room, followed by Dorothy. The closet door was open and their lights, flashing within it, revealed a square hole in the floor—a square hole opening into a smooth wooden chute that curved downward and into the darkness. And from that darkness now came up faint moans.
“This is awful!” cried Dorothy. “What have we done?”
“We haven’t done anything, but I think we have made a big discovery!” said Harry. “This trapdoor explains how Jim got into the cellar and I think that’s where we’ll now find Mrs. Tucker. She has been caught in her own trap!”
By this time the Christmas guests in the room below had come running out with their flashlights, calling up to know what was going on.