d never spoken quite so sharply before. Joyce
looked up, a little hurt.

"Why, Cynthia, what's the matter with you? One would think I'd been
doing something _wrong_, the way you speak!"

"Oh, I didn't mean it that way," explained Cynthia, contritely. "But you
don't know how this remembering _not_ to speak of it has got on my
nerves! I catch myself a dozen times a day just going to make some
innocent remark about the B. U. H., generally at the table, and then I
stutter and blush, and they all ask what's the matter, and I don't know
what in the world to answer! Now I have an idea. Perhaps it isn't worth
anything; mine generally aren't! But it's this: why wouldn't it be a
good scheme to get the older folks to talk about this house, without
letting them know you have any special interest in it--just start the
subject, somehow? I notice folks are liable to talk quite a long while
on most any subject that's started. And they might have something to say
that would interest us, and we _might_ get some new clues. And I don't
see any reason why they should connect us with it, specially."

Joyce considered the subject in thoughtful silence.

"I believe you're right," she said at last. "It is silly to continue
keeping so 'mum' about it, and we might get some good new points.
Anyhow, in the detective stories Sherlock Holmes didn't keep everything
so quiet, but talked to lots of outside people, and got ideas that way,
too. Why didn't I think of it before! Good old Cynthia! You had the
right notion that time. Come, let's go home now. I'm tired and sick of
this dusty grubbing, and we're not going to do any more of it!"

* * * * *

Next morning, Joyce came flying over to Cynthia's house half an hour
before it was time to start for high school. She seemed rather excited.

"Come on! Do hurry, Cyn! I've something important to tell you."

"But it isn't time to start yet," objected Cynthia, "and I'm only half
through breakfast. Tell me here!" Joyce gave her a warning glance before
turning away.

"Oh, later will do," she remarked casually, and strolled into the
sitting-room to chat with Mrs. Sprague. This was sufficient to hasten
Cynthia, who usually loved to linger cozily over her morning meal. She
had her hat and coat on and her books under her arm inside of seven
minutes, and the two girls hurried away together. They were no sooner
down the steps than Joyce began:

"Last night an idea came to me, j