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enough to let Maisie close the door. Felix looked around. The walls were the yellow of fancy mustard, with long cracks here and there and lots of peeling paint. The floor had black-and-gray squares with scuff marks on them.
    â€œBon voyage,” Maisie said cheerfully, catching him off guard and pushing the door shut.
    â€œHey!” Felix said, pulling his foot in fast, but she was already pressing the button and sending the dumbwaiter—and Felix—downward. The dumbwaiter groaned, then began its slow descent.
    He was relieved it was not too tight in there. Plenty of room for a cart of food, he supposed. Felix tried to imagine the fancy breakfasts that had ridden in the thing. Maybe croissants and pain au chocolat like their father used to bring home on Saturday mornings. The now-familiar ache for the past filled him, and Felix wrapped his arms around himself.
    Slightly short of breath, he tried to pretend he was somewhere more interesting than a narrow dumbwaiter in an old mansion. But it didn’t help. He was right here, and it was dark and airless and scary.
    â€œMaisie?” he called.
    To his surprise, her voice came to him as clear as anything. “We’re going straight to that room with all the stuff in it.”
    â€œThe Treasure Chest?” he yelled back to her.
    This time she didn’t answer. Despite how stuffy it was in the dumbwaiter, goose bumps traveled up Felix’s arms. Would this thing ever reach the bottom?
    Right then, the dumbwaiter stopped with a small
thud
. Felix opened his eyes. Out the small window on the door he saw nothing but the shaft. He hadn’t landed. He was stuck somewhere in the middle. He remembered how his parents forbade them from playing in elevators with their friends who lived in high-rises.
Elevators look innocent enough,
his mother had told him,
but do you know how many kids get hurt goofing around in them?
Now here he was in something even creakier than an elevator. At least elevators had those inspection stickers in them. He was certain no one had inspected this thing lately. Possibly ever.
    â€œMaisie?” he called again.
    She still didn’t answer. He didn’t like being in here, and he didn’t like his sister taking off before he even reached the bottom. How would she know which door he opened for her if she’d gone somewhere? Felix shivered. What if he was stuck in here for hours?
    Suddenly the dumbwaiter jerked sharply, paused, then hiccupped back to life.
    Felix didn’t realize he had been holding his breath until he started moving again. If he made it out of here, he was going to tell his sister that he would never listen to her stupid ideas again.
    Finally the dumbwaiter landed, more gently than Felix had expected. He pushed the door open with trembling, sweaty hands.
    When he peered out, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark. He blinked and stared out. He was in the large Kitchen with the wooden cabinets filled with fancy china and deep sinks and copper pots and pans. The Woman in Pink had told them that the walls were covered with white subway tiles like the ones in the 14th Street subway station near their old apartment. That had sent a shot of nostalgia through Felix then. Now they gleamed eerily in the one dim light that was turned on.
    Felix stepped out carefully, trying to remember the layout of the house. The Kitchen was technically in the Basement, and he had to figure out how to get upstairs to The Treasure Chest.
The Treasure Chest.
Even thinking of it made him shudder. He remembered how nervous the Woman in Pink got when they looked inside that room. In his opinion, anything hidden behind a secret stairway had a good reason to stay hidden. Maybe he could convince Maisie to explore a different room. Like the Ballroom, with its panels imported from France—or was it Italy? Felix couldn’t keep all the boring facts straight—and its chandelier made of Venetian glass—or was it