proved fruitless.

There was nothing in the place calculated to alarm the most timorous of
mortals; and as the boy glanced round he saw simply just what he had
seen there many times before--the grindstone, Uncle Roger's box, some
gardening tools, and sticks for rose-trees and other plants, a quantity
of matting stuff which had been wrapped round some plants and shrubs
when they came from a nursery, some old hampers, and a short wooden
bench on which the new boy, Henry, cleaned the knives and boots. There
was certainly nothing here to cause any one to drop a lamp and run
screaming into the house.

Still, Brian was not satisfied. He was perhaps rather pleased to think
that there was some mystery connected with the tool-house; it was like
trying to solve a very interesting puzzle.

"If only I had a clever detective here, like Sherlock Holmes!" he said
to himself. "I suppose he'd just look round and find some clue which
would explain the whole matter. I must confess I can't see anything. Now
_that's_ what began it all," he continued, as his eye rested on the
grindstone. "I believe Elsie really did hear some one turning that
stone, and it's my opinion that he, or she, whoever it might have been,
was grinding the carving-knife; but there the story stops short, and
doesn't seem to go any further. Besides, that doesn't explain what
frightened Elsie the other evening. I wish she'd tell me, but I'm afraid
she won't."

Brian went over and began carelessly working the grindstone with his
left foot on the treadle. "I know what I'll do," he thought. "Each night
I'll come out and tie the crank of this thing to the stand with a piece
of thin black cotton; then I shall soon find out if any one comes and
works here at night, for if they do, the thread will be broken in the
morning."

Without saying anything to the others, he slipped out on Friday evening
and set his trap; but when he went to examine it on the following
morning the cotton was still unbroken, though it snapped at once the
moment he pressed down the treadle. Nothing daunted by his failure,
Brian made up his mind to try the same thing several nights running, and
with this determination had hurried away to join his cousins as they
started for school.

"Where's father?" inquired Ida, as the family assembled at the
dinner-table.

"He's gone to Ashvale on business," answered Mrs. Ormond. "He won't be
back before this evening."

"There's no football this afternoon, is