nceived the
possibility of these numbers having reference to something in the one
room she inhabits. At first glance the extreme bareness of the spot
seemed to promise nothing to my curiosity. I looked at the floor and
detected no signs of any disturbance having taken place in its
symmetrically laid bricks for years. Yet I counted up to seventy one way
and twenty-eight the other, and marking the brick thus selected, began
to pry it out. It came with difficulty and showed me nothing underneath
but green mold and innumerable frightened insects. Then I counted the
bricks the other way, but nothing came of it. The floor does not appear
to have been disturbed for years. Turning my attention away from the
floor, I began upon the quilt. This was a worse job than the other, and
it took me an hour to rip apart the block I settled upon as the
suspicious one, but my labor was entirely wasted. There was no hidden
treasure in the quilt. Then I searched the walls, using the measurements
seventy by twenty-eight, but no result followed these endeavors,
and--well, what do you think I did then?"

"You will tell me," I said, "if I give you one more minute to do it in."

"Very well," said he. "I see you do not know, madam. Having searched
below and around me, I next turned my attention overhead. Do you
remember the strings and strings of dried vegetables that decorate the
beams above?"

"I do," I replied, not stinting any of the astonishment I really felt.

"Well, I began to count them next, and when I reached the seventieth
onion from the open doorway, I crushed it between my fingers and--these
fell out, madam--worthless trinkets, as you will immediately see,
but----"

"Well, well," I urged.

"They have been identified as belonging to the peddler who was one of
the victims in whose fate we are interested."

"Ah, ah!" I ejaculated, somewhat amazed, I own. "And number
twenty-eight?"

"That was a carrot, and it held a really valuable ring--a ruby
surrounded by diamonds. If you remember, I once spoke to you of this
ring. It was the property of young Mr. Chittenden and worn by him while
he was in this village. He disappeared on his way to the railway
station, having taken, as many can vouch, the short detour by Lost Man's
Lane, which would lead him directly by Mother Jane's cottage."

"You thrill me," said I, keeping down with admirable self-possession my
own thoughts in regard to this matter. "And what of No. ten, beyond
which she