he unresisting plaster of Eliza's room with such
force as to send the rod flying on to her bed. I had gone up-stairs
alone, and I confess the thing puzzled me: in two or three places in
the wall small apertures had been made, none of them of any depth. Not
the least mysterious thing was the disappearance of the iron implement
that had been used.

I remembered a story I read once about an impish dwarf that lived in
the spaces between the double walls of an ancient castle. I wondered
vaguely if my original idea of a secret entrance to a hidden chamber
could be right, after all, and if we were housing some erratic guest,
who played pranks on us in the dark, and destroyed the walls that he
might listen, hidden safely away, to our amazed investigations.

Mary Anne and Eliza left that afternoon, but Rosie decided to stay. It
was about five o'clock when the hack came from the station to get them,
and, to my amazement, it had an occupant. Matthew Geist, the driver,
asked for me, and explained his errand with pride.

"I've brought you a cook, Miss Innes," he said. "When the message came
to come up for two girls and their trunks, I supposed there was
something doing, and as this here woman had been looking for work in
the village, I thought I'd bring her along."

Already I had acquired the true suburbanite ability to take servants on
faith; I no longer demanded written and unimpeachable references. I,
Rachel Innes, have learned not to mind if the cook sits down
comfortably in my sitting-room when she is taking the orders for the
day, and I am grateful if the silver is not cleaned with scouring soap.
And so that day I merely told Liddy to send the new applicant in. When
she came, however, I could hardly restrain a gasp of surprise. It was
the woman with the pitted face.

She stood somewhat awkwardly just inside the door, and she had an air
of self-confidence that was inspiring. Yes, she could cook; was not a
fancy cook, but could make good soups and desserts if there was any one
to take charge of the salads. And so, in the end, I took her. As
Halsey said, when we told him, it didn't matter much about the cook's
face, if it was clean.

I have spoken of Halsey's restlessness. On that day it seemed to be
more than ever a resistless impulse that kept him out until after
luncheon. I think he hoped constantly that he might meet Louise
driving over the hills in her runabout: possibly he did meet her
occasionally, but