They issued on the instant, one after the other in single file, from a sunken lane, which opened on to the cross-roads, and took the road to Roborey. They were an Aunt Sally, a Rifle-Range, and a Tortoise Merry-go-round. As he passed in front of Dorothy and Saint-Quentin, one of the men of the Rifle-Range called to them:

"Are you coming along too?"

"Where to?" said Dorothy.

"To the château. There's a village fête in the grounds. Shall I keep a pitch for you?"

"Right. And thanks very much," replied the young girl.

The caravans went on their way.

"What's the matter, Saint-Quentin?" said Dorothy.

He was looking paler than usual.

"What's the matter with you?" she repeated. "Your lips are twitching and you are turning green!"

He stammered:

"The p-p-police!"

From the same sunken lane two horsemen came into the cross-roads, they rode on in front of the little party.

"You see," said Dorothy, smiling, "they're not taking any notice of us."

"No; but they're going to the château."

"Of course they are. There's a fête there; and two policemen have to be present."

"Always supposing that they haven't discovered the disappearance of the earrings and telephoned to the nearest police-station," he groaned.

"It isn't likely. The lady will only discover it to-night, when she dresses for dinner."

"All the same, don't let's go there," implored the unhappy stripling. "It's simply walking into the trap.... Besides, there's that man ... the man in the hole."

"Oh, he dug his own grave," she said 

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