They had both changed into their oldest and least respectable
clothes. Ricky, in fact, was wearing a pair of Val's slacks and one of
Rupert's shirts, and they were burdened with a broom which was long past
its youth, several smaller brushes, and a great bundle of floor-cloths.
"We've found a secret room--" began Ricky.
"As one door has been in plain sight since the building of this house,
it could hardly be called a secret room," Val objected.
"Well, we didn't know it was there until Satan found the back entrance
for us. And now we're going to clean it out. It's full of furniture and
boxes and things."
"Don't!" Charity held up a paint-streaked hand. "You will have me
drooling in a moment. I don't suppose you could use another assistant?
After all, it was my cat who found it for you. If you can provide me
with a set of those weird coverings which seem to be your house-cleaning
uniforms, I would just love to wield a broom in your company."
"The more the merrier," laughed Ricky. "I think Val has another pair of
slacks--"
"That's right, dispose of my wardrobe before my face," he commented,
balancing his load more carefully in preparation for climbing the
stairs. "Only spare my white flannels, please. I'm saving those for the
occasion when I can play the country gentleman in style."
Upstairs he braced open the hall door of the storage-room. The open
windows had cleared the air within but they were too high and too small
to admit enough light to reach the far corners.
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