pile of rectangular
clippings from newspapers. On the shelves of the whatnot were some
fragments of a dead pie, the relics of a "Fifteen-Puzzle," a pink
Easter-egg, four seashells, a tambourine with part of a girl's
face still visible in aged colours, about two thirds of a
hot-water bag, a tintype of Hedrick, and a number of books:
several by Henty, "Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea," "100
Practical Jokes, Easy to Perform," "The Jungle Book," "My Lady
Rotha," a "Family Atlas," "Three Weeks," "Pilgrim's Progress," "A
Boy's Life in Camp," and "The Mystery of the Count's Bedroom."

The gloomy eye of Hedrick wandered to "The Mystery of the Count's
Bedroom," and remained fixed upon it moodily and contemptuously.
His own mystery made that one seem tame and easy: Laura's bedroom
laid it all over the Count's, in his conviction; and with a soul
too weary of pain to shudder, he reviewed the bafflements and
final catastrophe of the preceding night.

He had not essayed the attempt upon the mattress until assured
that the house was wrapped in slumber. Then, with hope in his
heart, he had stolen to Laura's room, lit the lamp, feeling safe
from intrusion, and set to work. His implement at first was a long
hatpin of Cora's. Lying on his back beneath the bed, and, moving
the slats as it became necessary, he sounded every cubic inch of
the mysterious mattress without encountering any obstruction which
could reasonably be supposed to be the ledger. This was not more
puzzling than it was infuriating, since by all processes of
induction, deduction, and pure logic, the thing was necessarily
there. It was nowhere else. Therefore it was there. It _had_ to be
there! With the great blade of his Boy Scout's knife he began to
disembowel the mattress.

For a time he had worked furiously and effectively, but the
position was awkward, the search laborious, and he was obliged to
rest frequently. Besides, he had waited to a later hour than he
knew, for his mother to go to bed, and during one of his rests he
incautiously permitted his eyes to close. When he woke, his
sisters were in the room, and he thought it advisable to remain
where he was, though he little realized how he had weakened his
shelter. When Cora left the room, he heard Laura open the window,
sigh, and presently a tiny clinking and a click set him a-tingle
from head to foot: she was opening the padlocked book. The
scratching sound of a pen followed. And yet she had not come near