there."

The guest found his voice at once.

"Yes--and put them there yourself!"

It was recognized a good shot. Stillman retorted.

"It is wax--a breed unknown to this camp. I am ready to be searched for
the box. Are you?"

The guest was staggered this time--the dullest eye could see it. He
fumbled with his hands; once or twice his lips moved, but the words did
not come. The house waited and watched, in tense suspense, the stillness
adding effect to the situation. Presently Stillman said, gently:

"We are waiting for your decision."

There was silence again during several moments; then the guest answered,
in a low voice:

"I refuse to be searched."

There was no noisy demonstration, but all about the house one voice after
another muttered:

"That settles it! He's Archy's meat."

What to do now? Nobody seemed to know. It was an embarrassing situation
for the moment--merely, of course, because matters had taken such a