had filled his mind with an hypothesis, and he
couldn't see anything else but that. Now it's the same with this
business of looking for the papers. You seem to think your uncle would
put them just where anyone could lay hands on them. I don't. Your uncle
had a fair amount of foresight--he realised all along that it was likely
that he'd be cut off short--and the mere fact that he told you twice at
least that he had left you instructions shows that he had gone about
things carefully and methodically. Again, he had no means of knowing
just how he would be killed, so you can take it for granted that he
provided against such a contingency as this room being thoroughly
searched by the murderers. In other words, the papers are so placed that
only an intelligent person who knew your uncle's mind would guess where
the hiding place is. Now I'm having a wild shot at it, but it's logical
enough in all conscience. When you can't find a thing, try to take over
the mentality of the man who hid it."

"I'm afraid you're getting too deep for me, Jim."

"I'll put it another way, Moira. Something influenced your uncle in the
hiding-place he selected, and we've got to parallel his thoughts, if we
can, in order to find out the spot."

"But that's impossible."

"At first glance it seems like it. But just think the matter over. I've
got more than half an idea already. Whatever those papers are they're
certainly typewritten, and I'm sure they've something to do with that
bit of wood. Oh, I forgot. I've never told you about that. It happened
on the beach."

"Uncle told me how he met you," Moira volunteered.

"I'll bet he didn't say anything about the driftwood though."

"No, he did not," Moira admitted. So then and there I told her the tale.
"You can understand from that," I concluded, "that whatever he was
typing had something to do with that piece of wood. Now when he had made
up his mind to secrete the papers two words would be prominent in his
thoughts."

"I know," she said with a flash of intuition.

"Tell me," I smiled.

"'Sands' and 'wood,'" she said eagerly.

"'Wood' is one of them," I answered, "but I rather prefer to say 'bury'
for the other. Now the only place he could bury anything about here in
such a way that it wouldn't be noticed is under the hearthstone; but, as
it's cement in this case, I think we can leave it out of the question.
He wouldn't put them under the floor. For one thing it'd take too long,
and the swe