“Seems to me,” said Jane, “there is some sort of cubby hole under here.”  She was poking around the vine-roped foundation.

“Oh, you see they take cellar stuff out that window,” explained Dozia.  “It saves steps.  See the trail of ashes over there?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t come from this point, that does come from the window.  But I mean this spot here,” she was tapping on a frame in which the squares formed the foundation of the building, and where the wooden arches had been originally painted a contrasting color for the sake of trimming.

“You can always push those lattice pieces in,” said Dozia.  “That was the charmed spot for hide and seek I’ll guess, when Wellington was in rompers.”

“Just look here!” ordered Jane in a very definite tone of voice.  “This is more than a cubby hole.”  She was pulling at a piece of rope strung through a broken staple.  Nothing remained but the iron loop over which the old time outside padlock was usually snapped.  Jane pulled so vigorously she opened the hidden door and toppled over backward with the broken rope in her hand.  Dozia was in front of the opening before Jane could get to her feet.

“Well, of all—­things!” she drawled.  “If here isn’t some sort of old elevator!”

“A dumb-waiter!” cried Jane.  “There are my groaning ropes.  Pull, Doze, and let’s see if it carries a car.”

A couple of jerks at the big cables and the car came down to earth with a bump.

“Now!” exclaimed Jane gleefully.  “There’s the mystery.  This airship goes right up into that tower!”

“But don’t you dare ask me to make the ascent,” warned Dozia.  “The tower may be thick with ghosts as a chimney with swallows.”

“But think of it,” rattled on Jane.  “That old hidden dumb-waiter!  Why have we never discovered it before?”

“Didn’t need it,” said Dozia.  “Wouldn’t have a bit of use for it now except to save you from getting gray headed and daffy over spooks.  Come along indoors and look at the tower from the other end.  This elevator must have a ‘last stop, all out’ platform some place,” drawled Dozia, as calmly as if a great part of the mystery had not just been successfully cleared up.

“But I’m not afraid to go up,” declared Jane, almost dancing with excitement, “and the elevator works by pulling the ropes from the inside.”

“Don’t you dare, Jane Allen!” cautioned the imperturbable Dozia.  “You might get half way up and stick in a smoke stack, or a rope might break or anything of a large variety of possibilities might occur.  I can’t be a party to your suicide pact.  Walk right up the red carpeted stairs with little bright-eyed Dozia, and view the tower from the objective.”  She took Jane’s arm and dragged her around to the side door, which stood invitingly opened.

By way of the red carpeted stairs they went as far as the attic flight, and from that point tramped plain unvarnished and well worn “treads” which Dozia took two at a time.