suppose,” said Eve, smiling up at the boy, “that you have no idea who we are?”

It was now our turn to be surprised. “Sure. You’re the girls who are staying at Mrs. Poole’s.”

“But how in the world did you know?” she demanded. “We only came last night.”

“Fellow who lives next door is a kind of friend of mine,” he vouchsafed shortly. “Tells me all his troubles.”

“But,” giggled Eve, “we’re not one of his troubles, are we? At least not yet!”

The boy made no reply to this but gathered up his reins preparatory to turning into the drive.

I remembered suddenly the dark figure I had seen creeping along the hedge last night. “What kind of troubles has your friend?” I called hastily.

“Oh, cat troubles mostly.” The words drifted back as the wagon rattled away.

“Did he say ‘cat’?” I asked.

“Sounded like it,” said Eve.

VI A Piece of Paper

Aunt Cal listened to our story without interruption at supper that night. Only at my first mention of the old Craven House, I fancied I saw an odd expression flit across her face. But her only comment, when we had finished, was the dry remark that the next time we felt moved to go poking about empty houses, we’d better make sure that the key was on the inside.

Aunt Cal

Following Eve upstairs that night, I found her standing in the middle of the room, scowling over a scrap of paper. “Is this anything of yours, Sandy?” she asked.

I peered at it over her shoulder. It was a soiled and dog-eared piece of notepaper which had been folded twice. Scrawled across the middle, I read: “Circe south 13-6, 90 degrees W. 7 dig here.”

“I never saw it before. Where did you find it, Eve?” I said, looking at it curiously.

“Saw it lurking under the bed as I came into the room,” she explained. “It doesn’t seem like Aunt Cal to leave pieces of old letters about.”

“What do you think it is?” I asked, still staring at the strange inscription. “A ship’s log maybe? Circe sounds like the name of a 

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