and out, almost like the serpent he was, until he came to a
passageway in the rough and uncleared hillside--a small opening
formed by the rocks.

It was dark inside, but he did not hesitate to enter, carrying the
wire and the bag with him.

. . . . . . .

It was nightfall before we arrived with Elaine at Aunt Tabby's. We
entered the living-room and Elaine introduced us both to Aunt
Tabby and her husband.

It was difficult to tell whether Elaine's old nurse was more glad
to see her than the faithful Rusty who almost overwhelmed her even
after so short an absence.

In the midst of the greetings, I took occasion to look over the
living-room. It was a very cozy room, simply and tastefully
furnished, and I fancied that I could see in the neatness of Aunt
Tabby a touch of Elaine's hand, for she had furnished it for her
faithful old friend.

I followed Kennedy's eyes, and saw that he was looking at the
fireplace. Sure enough, it was the same in design as the fireplace
which the heat had so unexpectedly brought out in sympathetic ink
on the blank sheet of paper.

Kennedy lost no time in examining it, and we crowded around him as
he went over it inch by inch, following the directions on the