however, that he did not go far from the doorway.

"It is only a den," remarked Miss Graham.

I looked about me. She had described it perfectly: a place to lounge in
on an August day like the present. Walls of Georgia pine across one of
which hung a series of long dark rugs; a long, low window looking toward
the house, a few articles of bamboo furniture describe the place. Among
the latter was a couch. It was drawn up underneath the window, on the
other side of which ran the bench where my companion declared she had
been sitting while listening to the music.

"Wouldn't you think my attention would have been caught by the sound of
any one moving about here?" she cried, pointing to the couch and then to
the window. "But the window was closed and the door, as you see, is
round the corner from the bench."

"A person with a very stealthy step, apparently."

"Very," she admitted. "Oh, how can I ever forgive myself! how can I
ever, ever forgive myself!"

As she stood wringing her hands in sight of that empty couch, I cast a
scrutinizing glance about me, which led me to remark:

"This interior looks new; much newer than the outside. It has quite a
modern air."

"Yes, the bungalow is old, very old; but this room, or den, or whatever
you might call it, was all remodeled and fitted up as you see it now
when the new house went up. It had long been abandoned as a place of
retreat, and had fallen into such decay that it was a perfect eyesore to
all who saw it. Now it is likely to be abandoned again, and for what a
reason! Oh, the dreadful place! How I hate it, now Gwendolen is gone!"

"One moment. I notice another thing. This room does not occupy the whole
of the bungalow."

Either she did not hear me or thought it unnecessary to reply; and
perceiving that her grief had now given way to an impatience to be gone,
I did not press the matter, but led the way myself to the door. As we
entered the little path which runs directly to that outlet in the hedge
marked E, I ventured to speak again:

"You have reasons, or so it appears, for believing that the child was
carried off through this very path?"

The reply was impetuous:

"How else could she have been spirited away so quickly? Besides,--" here
her eye stole back at me over her shoulder,--"I have since remembered
that as I ran out of the bungalow in my fright at finding the child
gone, I heard the sound of wheels on Mrs. Carew's driveway. It did not
mean much to me then