othing to fear, why should she object?"

"Do be quiet, Mercedes," Mrs. Standish advised sweetly. "Miss
Manwaring is quite right to object, even if innocent."

"You see, miss," Mason persisted, "I have Mrs. Gosnold's authority to
make such investigation as I see fit."

"I forbid you to touch anything in this room."

"I'm sorry. I'd rather not. But it looks to me like my duty."

She perceived at length that he was stubbornly bent on this outrageous
thing. For a breath she contemplated dashing madly from the place,
seeking Trego, and demanding his protection.

But immediately, with a sharp pang, she was reminded that she might no
longer depend even on Trego.

As the detective tentatively approached her dressing-table the girl
swung a wicker armchair about so that it faced a corner of the room
and threw herself angrily into it, her back to the four.

Immediately, as if nothing but her eye had prevented it theretofore,
the search was instituted.

She heard drawers opened and closed, sounds of rummaging. She
trembled violently with impotent exasperation. It was intolerable, yet
it must be endured. There was one satisfaction: they would find
nothing, and presently Mrs. Gosnold would reappear and their insolence
be properly punished.

She could not believe that Mrs. Gosnold would let it pass unrebuked.
And yet . . .

Of a sudden it was borne in upon the girl that she had found this
little island world a heartless, selfish place, that she had yet to
meet one of its inhabitants by whom her faith and affection had not
been betrayed, deceived and despised.

Remembering this, dared she count upon even Mrs. Gosnold in this hour
of greatest need?

Had that lady not, indeed, already failed her protegee by indulging in
the whim of this unaccountable disappearance?

Must one believe what had been suggested, that she, believing her
confidence misplaced in Sally, was merely keeping out of the way until
the unhappy business had been accomplished and the putative cause of
it all removed from Gosnold House?

Behind her back the futile business of searching her room, so
inevitably predestined to failure and confusion, was being vigorously
prosecuted, to judge by the sounds that marked its progress. And from
the shifting play of shadows upon the walls she had every reason to
believe that Miss Pride was lending the detective a willing hand. If
so, it was well in character; nothing could be more consistent
with the spinster's