Aunt Josephine turned to the expressmen and nodded. With the aid
of Jennings they carried the vase into the library and there it
was uncrated, while Kennedy continued to question the man with the
book, without eliciting any further information than that he
thought it had been reconsigned from another express company. He
knew nothing more than that it had been placed on his wagon,
properly marked and prepaid.

When Kennedy rejoined us, the vase had been completely uncrated,
Aunt Josephine signed for it, and, grumbling a bit, the expressmen
left. There we stood, nonplussed by the curious gift.

Craig walked around the vase, looking at it critically. I had a
feeling of being watched, one of those sensations which
psychologists tell us are utterly baseless and unfounded. I was
glad I had not said anything about it when he tapped the vase with
his cane, then stuck it down the long narrow neck, working it
around as well as he could. The neck was so long and narrow,
however, that his stick could not fully explore the inside of the
vase, but it seemed to me to be quite empty.

"Well, there's nothing in it, anyhow," I ventured.

I had spoken too soon. Kennedy withdrew his cane and on the
ferrule, adhering as though by some sticky substance, was a note.
Kennedy pulled it off and unfolded it, while we gathered about
him.

"Maybe it's from Elaine," cried Aunt Josephine, grasping at a