age to us that this was all he
had to leave in case he did not return." Mr. Presby's voice held a note
of keen disappointment. Even up to now he had not fully lost hope that
by some fortunate circumstance the treasure might yet be found.

"He may have returned and taken the rest of it," reflected Bob. "But if
that were so, why should he have gone to all the pains of leading us to
believe there was more?"

"How so?"

"This find means more than appears on the surface, sir."

"May I look at it?" asked Barbara.

[Illustration: A Slip Of Paper Fluttered To the Floor.]

Mr. Presby handed the watch to her. She opened the case and gazed long
at the face of the timepiece. She closed the case with a snap, then
turned to the back, first studying the initials, next trying to open the
back case. Bob Stevens assisted her with his pocket knife. The case came
open suddenly. A slip of paper fluttered to the floor at Bab's feet.

"Oh!" she cried, snatching it up. She started to unfold the paper, then
flushing, handed it to Mr. Presby. He shook his head.

"Look at it, my dear. There need be no secrets here."

Barbara did so, her hands trembling with excitement. A little furrow of
perplexity appeared between the eyebrows. What she saw on the paper was
a crude drawing of a toadstool with a slight point rising from the
centre of the toadstool. In the background was what appeared to be a
forest, but so awkwardly drawn that it was not possible to say
positively that a forest was what the artist had intended. Below the
picture of the toadstool was some writing. Stevens held the lantern
closer, at her suggestion. "'The span of a minute is sixty seconds,'"
read Barbara Thurston. "Now, what in the world does that mean?"

"I think it was your little golden-haired sister who expressed the
opinion that my ancestor was not in his right mind," said Mr. Presby. "I
am inclined to that belief myself. I wash my hands of the whole affair!
Come, let us go below. This air here suffocates me."

Bob Stevens took the paper and, holding the lantern in the crook of his
left arm, studied the bit of paper on his way downstairs, but made
nothing out of it.

"I am not certain that it means anything at all, Miss Thurston," he
said. "Perhaps the girls may discover some meaning. As for myself, I
give it up."

"Thank you," answered Barbara. "I will show it to them. I know it must
mean something, unless--unless the original Mr. Presby were crazy in
fact."