nt a helping hand. It's too much for one."

"You can hold the lantern, at any rate. It's a job that will need some
caution. We mustn't attempt it till it's quite dark."

"No, not till everything's quiet," said Mrs. Wilson, as she re-entered
the house.

Lindsay drew Cicely back quickly into the room, as Scott returned to his
rows of boots on the bench. She did not wish him, at any cost, to see
them at the window, or to know that they had overheard the conversation.

"What are they going to do?" asked Cicely breathlessly.

"I don't know. It must be something dreadful if they want to keep it so
quiet."

"And do it in the dark, too!"

"I'm afraid both Mrs. Wilson and Scott are bad characters," said Lindsay
in an impressive voice. "I expect they've stolen the treasure, and
they're going to hide it in the garden. Perhaps even it may have
something to do with the prisoner in the lantern room."

"You don't think they've killed him?" gasped Cicely.

"I can't tell. I believe they're capable of anything. I'm quite uneasy
for fear they intend to harm Monica. We'll watch to-night, and find out
what they're about. I shouldn't wonder if we're on the verge of a great
discovery. It was most fortunate we were kept in this afternoon; if we
hadn't happened to be at the window just then, we shouldn't have heard
their plans."

Cicely's face had lengthened considerably at the idea of the black
doings which it was evidently their duty to investigate.

"I don't know how we're to follow them in the dark," she said, after a
moment's hesitation.

"We must," declared Lindsay emphatically. "I feel it all depends on us.
Monica may be in the greatest danger, and we are the only ones who know
anything about the matter, and can save her."

The tea-bell ringing at that moment sent them down to the dining-hall.
The meal had been delayed half an hour on account of the tournament, so
preparation followed immediately afterwards, and Lindsay and Cicely were
obliged, with their thoughts still running on possible tragedies, to
endeavour to apply their minds to the unromantic details of parsing.

It seemed of such minor importance whether a verb were transitive or
intransitive, weak or strong, compared with whether Mrs. Wilson and
Scott were really going to meet in the garden to carry out some fell
intention. The time seemed endless until the books were at last put
away, and they could snatch a few moments for private talk.

"There's one comfor