e only in whispers.
Margaret smiled affectionately at Yolanda's childish antics and said:--

"I think the conspirators should disperse. I hope, Sir Karl, that I may
soon meet you in due form. Meantime, of course, it is best that we do
not know each other."

After examining the missive for the twentieth time, Yolanda placed it in
its pouch and turned to the duchess.

"Take it, mother, to the iron box, and I will lead Sir Karl back to
Uncle Castleman's," she said.

The duchess graciously offered me a goblet of wine, and after I had
drunk, Yolanda led me down the stairway to the House under the Wall.
While descending Yolanda called my attention to a loose stone in the
wall of the staircase.

"The other end of this stone," she said, "penetrates the wall of the
room that you and Sir Max occupied the night before you were liberated.
The mortar has fallen away, and it was here that I spoke to you and told
you not to fear."

Here was another supernatural marvel all too easily explained.

CHAPTER XVI

PARTICEPS CRIMINIS

That evening after supper Max and I walked over to Castleman's. The
evening was cool, and we were sitting in the great parlor talking with
Castleman and Twonette when Yolanda entered. The room was fully fifty
feet long, and extended across the entire front of the house. A huge
chimney was built at the east end of the room, and on either side of the
fireplace was a cushioned bench. A similar bench extended across the
entire west end of the room. When Yolanda entered she ran to me and
took my hand.

"Come, Sir Karl, I want to speak with you," she said.

She led me to the west end of the room, sat down on the cushioned bench,
and drew in her skirts that I might sit close beside her.

"I want to tell you about the missive, Sir Karl," she whispered,
laughing and shrugging her shoulders in great glee. "Mother returned it
to the box, and when I left you I hurried back and haunted the room,
fearing that some one might meddle with the parchment. Near the hour of
six o'clock father entered. I was sitting on the divan, and he sat down
in his great chair, of course taking no notice of me--I am too
insignificant for so great a person to notice, except when he is
compelled to do so. I was joyful in my heart, but I conjured up all my
troubles that I might make myself weep. I feared to show any change in
myself, so I sobbed aloud now and then, and soon father turned angrily
toward me. 'Are you still there?'