Will Monsieur come to the top of the rock to-night, some time
between the hours of nine and ten.

There was no signature to the note, but Philip knew that only
Jeanne could have written it, for the letters were almost of
miscroscopic smallness, as delicate as the bit of lace in which
they had been delivered, and of a quaintness of style which added
still more to the bewildering mystery which already surrounded
these people. He read the lines half a dozen times, and then
turned to find that the Indian boy was slipping sway through the
rocks.

"Here--you," he commanded, in English. "Come back!"

The boy's white teeth gleamed in a laugh as he waved his hand and
leaped farther away. From Philip his eyes shifted in a quick,
searching glance to the top of the cliff. In a flash Philip
followed its direction. He understood the meaning of the look.
From the cliff Jeanne and Pierre had seen his approach, and their
meeting with the Indian boy had made it possible for them to
intercept him in this manner. They were probably looking down upon
him now, and in the gladness of the moment Philip laughed up at
the bare rocks and waved his cap above his head as a signal of his
acceptance of the strange invitation he had received.

Vaguely he wondered why they had set the meeting for that night,
when in three or four minutes he could have joined them up there
in broad day. But the central tangle of the mystery that had grown
up about him during the past few days was too perplexing to
embroider with such a minor detail as this, and he turned back