ason, or, so far as I could see, no legitimate reason,
why a car should have stopped there, yet it had stopped and for some
time. Deeper tracks in the sand at the side of the lane showed that.

I felt that I had made some progress: I had found where the pearls had
been hidden after the theft, and this put Bella out of the question. And
I had found--or thought I had--the way in which Miss Jane had been taken
away from Bellwood.

I came back past the long rear wing of the house which contained, I
presumed, the kitchen and the other mysterious regions which only women
and architects comprehend. A long porch ran the length of the wing, and
as I passed I heard my name called.

"In here in the old laundry," Margery's voice repeated, and I retraced
my steps and went up on the porch. At the very end of the wing,
dismantled, piled at the sides with firewood and broken furniture, was
an old laundry. Its tubs were rusty, its walls mildewed and streaked,
and it exhaled the musty odor of empty houses. On the floor in the
middle of the room, undeniably dirty and dishevelled, sat Margery
Fleming.

"I thought you were never coming," she said petulantly. "I have been
here alone for an hour."

"I'm sure I never guessed it," I apologized. "I should have been only
too glad to come and sit with you."

She was fumbling with her hair, which threatened to come down any
minute, and which hung, loosely knotted, over one small ear.

"I hate to look ridiculous," she said sharply, "and I detest being
laughed at. I've been crying, and I haven't any handkerchief."

I proffered mine gravely, and she took it. She wiped the dusty streaks
off her cheeks and pinned her hair in a funny knob on top of her head
that would have made any other woman look like a caricature. But still
she sat on the floor.

"Now," she said, when she had jabbed the last hair-pin into place and
tucked my handkerchief into her belt, "if you have been sufficiently
amused, perhaps you will help me out of here."

"Out of where?"

"Do you suppose I'm sitting here because I like it?"

"You have sprained your ankle," I said, with sudden alarm.

In reply she brushed aside her gown, and for the first time I saw what
had occurred. She was sitting half over a trap-door in the floor, which
had closed on her skirts and held her fast.

"The wretched thing!" she wailed. "And I have called until I am hoarse.
I could shake Heppie! Then I tried to call you mentally. I fixed my mind