months. It’s the whole code."  
"Hughie, you are rather surprising," said Pamela, as she examined the extraordinary result of skill and patience. Then she pushed the boxes a little to one side and seated herself on the corner of the oak chest.  
"I rather wanted to tell you something," she began.  
"I know," said Hughie, adding as she paused in surprise, "is it about the pig-tail girl?"  
Pamela told him what had happened, and what Christobel had asked her.  
Hughie made no comment.  
"I wish they hadn’t gone to Fuchsia Cottage and asked Miss Anne about it," went on Pamela thoughtfully, "the more people who are dragged into it, the more bother it will be to----"  
"To what?" inquired Hughie, without looking up.  
"Well, I was going to say--to find out. Then I remembered that probably there isn’t anything to find out. I mean, if there is a girl she is probably a relation of Mrs. Trewby’s."  
"I suppose you think she lives at Woodrising?" suggested Hughie cautiously.  
"Crow said she disappeared just outside that wall--when a cloud made it dark. _They_ thought she’d run on into Fuchsia Cottage gate--you see."  
"I know. It was the other gate more likely," said Hughie in a deliberate manner.  
"Well, I daresay. I don’t see where else she can be living. But what I mean is, Hughie, that it’s not exciting. I thought I’d just try and find tracks--or something definite--so I went all round Woodrising yesterday evening. One can’t get in; besides, I hadn’t the cheek to go and ring at the gate-bell and say ’Have you a girl like me anywhere about?’ I couldn’t do it, so I just----"  
"Scouted," suggested Hughie, as he threaded a fine needle with silk with a view to button-holes, "you got it out of your Scout book."  
Pamela coloured faintly.  
"I rather tried to do as they say in the Rules, but there weren’t any tracks outside. Then I got over the end wall; there was a ladder against it outside, and I’m perfectly certain Peter Cherry uses it for a short cut. Inside there was a manure heap--not a smelly one--straw chiefly for marrows--so there was a good place to jump into. The garden was appallingly wet; and you never saw anything like the bushes, Midget--one mass. I saw Peter’s bootmarks as plain as a house--and then I found nice narrow shoes like mine, and made sure I’d got a clue, but it occurred to me that they might easily be my own feet! I’d been going up and down, and in and out--such a lot of paths and all so much alike----"  
"Next time I’d put a trail of pebbles if I were you," suggested Hughie.  
"You mean like Hop-of-my-thumb did, when he found the birds ate his bread-crumbs?"  
"Or," said Hughie, pausing in his work, "you could blaze a trail on the bushes. That’s easy enough--tiny little breaks in the twigs--and leaves stuck on the ends of them. I 

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