ll her clothes are there she's been sleep-walking," Miss Letitia
said calmly. "We used to have to tie her by a cord around her ankle and
fasten it to the bedpost. When she tried to get up the cord would pull
and wake her."

I think after a time, however, some of Margery's uneasiness communicated
itself to the older woman. She finished dressing, and fumed when we told
her we had locked Miss Jane's door and mislaid the key. Finally, Margery
got her settled in the back parlor with some peppermints and her
knitting; she had a feeling, she said, that Jane had gone after the
stump water and lost her way, and I told Margery to keep her in that
state of mind as long as she could.

I sent for Hunter that morning and he came at three o'clock. I took him
through the back entrance to avoid Miss Letitia. I think he had been
skeptical until I threw open the door and showed him the upset chair,
the old lady's clothing, and the bloodstained lace cap. His examination
was quick and thorough. He took a crumpled sheet of note paper out of
the waste-basket and looked at it, then he stuffed it in his pocket. He
sniffed the toilet water, called Margery and asked her if any clothing
was missing, and on receiving a negative answer asked if any shawls or
wraps were gone from the halls or other rooms. Margery reported nothing
missing.

Before he left the room, Hunter went back and moved the picture which
had been disturbed over the mantel. What he saw made him get a chair
and, standing on it, take the picture from its nail. Thus exposed, the
wall showed an opening about a foot square, and perhaps eighteen inches
deep. A metal door, opening in, was unfastened and ajar, and just inside
was a copy of a recent sentimental novel and a bottle of some sort of
complexion cream. In spite of myself, I smiled; it was so typical of the
dear old lady, with the heart of a girl and a skin that was losing its
roses. But there was something else in the receptacle, something that
made Margery Fleming draw in her breath sharply, and made Hunter raise
his eyebrows a little and glance at me. The something was a scrap of
unruled white paper, and on it the figures eleven twenty-two!

CHAPTER VI

A FOUNTAIN PEN

Harry Wardrop came back from the city at four o'clock, while Hunter was
in the midst of his investigation. I met him in the hall and told him
what had happened, and with this new apprehension added to the shock of
the night before, he looked as th