Killimaga."

"Killimaga?"

"A rich old Irishman built it and put a wall around it, too. We folks
of Sihasset don't like that; it shuts off the view of the house and
lawn. Lawn's what makes things purty. He wuz a queer old mug--wanted
to shut hisself up."

"But how did she get out?" insisted the agent, coming back to the issue.

"Search me," offered the constable. He looked toward the top of the
wall. "Clumb the fence, mebbe."

"With her dress looking as it does?"

"There's no other way. I dunno."

The agent was puzzled. "I want a closer inspection of that wall.
We'll walk along this side."

Both agent and constable started off, keeping well behind the wild
hedge along the wall so that they might not be seen from the bluff road.

The man lying in the grass was more puzzled than the agent. Why a book
agent and a constable should be so anxious about a lady who was--well,
just charming--but who had herself stepped out of nowhere to join a
priest in his walk, was a problem for some study. He got up and walked
to the wall. Then he laughed. Close examination showed him marks in
the giant tree, the vertical cuts being cleverly covered by the bark,