could move most of it. I think Delia tried, for I see that things have been pushed to one side. Let me have a candle. You go on with your bread-making, while I get to work in here. I might do a little to straighten things out.”      

       Mary lit a candle and handed it to me, and I went poking about amongst a clutter of broken implements, pots and kettles, old garden tools, even a lawn-mower, and came against a great mass of iron, which turned out to be a lawn-roller. However did it get in here, and why was it put here? I gave it a push, and found that it rolled ponderously, but very silently aside.       In the effort I lost my balance a little, and put my hand out to the wall. It went into damp darkness, and I fell. There was no wall at the narrow, low end of the closet under the stairs, but a hole.     

       “Oh, miss,” called Mary, coming to the door, her hands covered with flour,       “Mrs. Brane says she wants you, please, to take tea up to the drawing-room. There's company, I fancy, and my hands are in the dough.”      

       I came out, a little jarred by my fall, a little puzzled by that closet with its dark, open end so carefully protected by a mass of heavy things. Then, for the first time, I began really to suspect that something was not quite right at “The Pines.” I said nothing to Mary. Her steady, cheerful sanity was invaluable. Hastily I washed my rusty, dusty hands, smoothed my hair, prepared the tea-tray, and went upstairs.     

       Mrs. Brane was entertaining two men in the drawing-room.     

       I came in and set the tray down on the little table at Mrs. Brane's elbow. As I did so, I glanced at the two men. One was a large, stout man with gray hair and a gray beard and a bullying manner, belied by the kindly expression of his eyes. I liked him at once. The other, for some reason, impressed me much less favorably. He had an air of lazy indifference, large, demure eyes, black hair very sleekly groomed, clothes which even my ignorance of such matters proclaimed themselves just what was most appropriate for an afternoon visit to a Southern country house, and a low, deprecatory, pleasant voice. He gave me a casual look when Mrs. Brane very pleasantly introduced me—she made much more of a guest of me than of a housekeeper—and dropped his eyes again on the cup between his long, slim hands. He dropped them, however, not before I had time 

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