“Love the wooden ceiling,” Brenda said. “And look at the plank walls!”

“It’s an old one,” Donald Callaway said. “Congratulations, Miss Stackhouse, on living in such a lovely historic home.”

I tried not to look as astonished as I felt. This was not the reaction I normally got. Most people tended to pity me for living in such an outdated structure. The floors weren’t really true and the windows weren’t standard. “Thanks,” I said doubtfully. “Well, here’s the stuff that was in the attic. You all see if there’s anything you want. Just give me a yell if you need something.”

There didn’t seem to be any point in hanging around, and it seemed kind of tacky to watch them at work. I went into my room to dust and straighten, and I cleaned out a drawer or two while I was at it. Normally I would have listened to the radio, but I wanted to keep an ear out for the partners in case they needed to ask questions. They talked to each other quietly from time to time, and I found myself curious about what they were deciding. When I heard Claude coming down the stairs, I thought it was a good idea to go out to tell him and Dermot good-bye as they left.

Brenda gaped at the two beautiful men as the fairies passed through the living room. I made them slow down long enough to be introduced because that was only polite. I wasn’t a bit surprised to notice that Donald was thinking of me in a different light after he’d met my “cousins.”

I was scrubbing on the hall bathroom floor when I heard Donald exclaim. I drifted into the living room, trying to look casually inquisitive.

He’d been examining my grandfather’s desk, a very heavy and ugly object that had been the cause of much cursing and sweating on the part of the fairies when they carried it down to the living room.

The small man was crouched before it now, his head in the kneehole.

“You’ve got a secret compartment, Miss Stackhouse,” he said, and he inched backward on his haunches. “Come, let me show you.”

I squatted down beside him, feeling the excitement such a discovery naturally aroused. Secret compartment! Pirate treasure! Magic trick! They all trigger the happy anticipation of childhood.

With the help of Donald’s flashlight I saw that at the back of the desk, in the area where your knees would fit, there was an extra panel. There were tiny hinges so high up a knee would never brush them; so the door would swing upward when it was open.

How to open it was the mystery.

After I’d had a good look, Donald said, “I’ll try my pocketknife, Miss Stackhouse, if you have no objection.”

“None at all,” I said.