ie crouched in the deepest shade she could find and listened
carefully to the strange sound, trying to determine its origin. It was
surely under ground--a little to the right of her--perhaps beneath the
hillside, which slanted abruptly from this spot. She decided there must
be some secret passage that led to a cave under the hill. Such a cave
might be either natural or artificial; in either case she was sure old
Cragg used it as a rendezvous or workshop and visited it stealthily on
his "wakeful" nights.

Having located the place to the best of her ability Josie began to
consider what caused that regular, thumping noise, which still
continued without intermission.

"I think it must be some sort of an engine," she reflected; "a stamp
for ore, or something of that sort. Still, it isn't likely there is any
steam or electrical power to operate the motor of so big a machine. It
might be a die stamp, though, operated by foot power, or--this is most
likely--a foot-power printing-press. Well, if a die stamp or a printing
press, I believe the mystery of Old Swallowtail's 'business' is readily
explained."

She sat still there, crouching between the rocks, for more than two
hours before the sound of the machine finally ceased. Another hour
passed in absolute silence. She ventured to flash her pocket
searchlight upon the dial of her watch and found it was nearly four
o'clock. Dawn would come, presently, and then her situation would be
more precarious than ever.

While she thus reflected the sound of footsteps reached her ears--very
near to her, indeed--and a voice muttered:

"Come this way. Have you forgotten?"

"Forgotten? I found the place, didn't I?" was the surly reply.

Then there passed her, so closely that she could have touched them,
three dim forms. She watched them go and promptly followed, taking the
chance of discovery if they looked behind. They were wholly unconscious
of her presence, however, and soon made their way out into the open.
There they paused, and Josie, hiding behind a high rock, could both see
and hear them plainly.

One was old Cragg; another a tall, thin man with a monocle in his left
eye; the third, she found to her surprise, was none other than Jim
Bennett the postman. The tall man held in his arms a heavy bundle,
securely wrapped.

"You'll surely get them off to-morrow?" said Cragg to him,

"Of course," was the answer. "You may be certain I'll not have them on
my hands longer than is nece