ddenly light and then subdued again, as the
shining white clouds rolled north-eastwards over the square. The soft
fitful illumination was reflected in the polished surface of the table
and even in the footworn old floor; and the morning noises had begun
again.

Oleron made a pattern of dots on the paper before him, and then broke off
to move the jar of daffodils exactly opposite the centre of a creamy
panel. Then he wrote a sentence that ran continuously for a couple of
lines, after which it broke on into notes and jottings. For a time he
succeeded in persuading himself that in making these memoranda he was
really working; then he rose and began to pace his room. As he did so, he
was struck by an idea. It was that the place might possibly be a little
better for more positive colour. It was, perhaps, a thought _too_
pale--mild and sweet as a kind old face, but a little devitalised, even
wan.... Yes, decidedly it would bear a robuster note--more and richer
flowers, and possibly some warm and gay stuff for cushions for the
window-seats....

"Of course, I really can't afford it," he muttered, as he went for a
two-foot and began to measure the width of the window recesses....

In stooping to measure a recess, his attitude suddenly changed to one of
interest and attention. Presently he rose again, rubbing his hands with
gentle glee.

"Oho, oho!" he said. "These look to me very much like window-boxes,
nailed up. We must look into this! Yes, those are boxes, or
I'm ... oho, this is an adventure!"

On that wall of his sitting-room there were two windows (the third was in
another corner), and, beyond the open bedroom door, on the same wall, was
another. The seats of all had been painted, repainted, and painted again;
and Oleron's investigating finger had barely detected the old nailheads
beneath the paint. Under the ledge over which he stooped an old keyhole
also had been puttied up. Oleron took out his penknife.

He worked carefully for five minutes, and then went into the kitchen for
a hammer and chisel. Driving the chisel cautiously under the seat, he
started the whole lid slightly. Again using the penknife, he cut along
the hinged edge and outward along the ends; and then he fetched a
wedge and a wooden mallet.

"Now for our little mystery--" he said.

The sound of the mallet on the wedge seemed, in that sweet and pale
apartment, somehow a little brutal--nay, even shocking. The panelling
rang and rattled and vibrate