ically along the bricks, counting them.

A cheerful voice came up from below: "I have found the doughnuts--good
ones!--and the--seem to be--yes! sweet pickles. Corking! And--now you've
done it, my son! Jam, by all that's adhesive! Put my whole hand in.
Jerusalem and Mad--"

At this instant there was a sound as of a door thrown violently open; a
flood of light filled the place; light, and an angry voice.

"Who's this here in my pantry? Come out of that, ye rascal, before I set
the dogs on ye!"

Gerald Merryweather uttered a yell of delight. "Destiny!" he shouted.
"My fate cries out. Quits, Mrs. Cook, quits! Come to my arms!"

And Margaret, peeping fearfully down through the trap-door, beheld her
guest waving one hand, a crimson one, in the air, and with the other
embracing the ample form of Frances the cook; while behind them the
grave Elizabeth looked wide-eyed, shading her candle with her hand.

"For shame, sir!" said Frances. "Do behave, now, Mr. Gerald! I never see
such a bold boy since born I was."

"No, no! not bold; don't say bold, Mrs. Cook! Witness my blushing eyes,
my tearful cheek, my stammering nose! Hush, listen, there's a good soul.
Your doughnuts are food for the gods; also for Jerry. Poor Jerry; never
had enough doughnuts in his life. You weep for him; let him dry the
starting tear!"

Drawing out his pocket-handkerchief, he gravely applied it to Frances's
eyes and went on. "We are looking for the Lost Casket, Miss Montfort and
I. If you can help us to it, Mrs. Cook,--

"I'll dress thee all in pongo silk,
And crown thee with a bowl of milk;
And hail thee, till my last breath passes,
The queen of sugar and molasses.

A poet, as you observe. Nothing to what I can do, give me time and a
yard measure. Now tell me--"

Margaret's voice from above interrupted him.

"Mr. Merryweather, there is a loose brick here. I can pull it quite out;
and--yes--there is a space behind it, and--oh, can you bring the light?"

To snatch the lamp from Frances's hand, blow her a kiss, and scramble up
the steps again, was the work of an instant with Gerald. He found
Margaret pale, with shining eyes, holding something in her hands.

"No!" cried Gerald. "I say, you haven't--you have! eccentric Jiminy, you
have found it!"

"I think I have!" said Margaret, who was fairly trembling with
excitement. "Look! the letters on the lid! oh, Mr. Merryweather!"

The object she held was a box so