Not until Friday did Win receive the longed-for letter from Paris. He tore it open eagerly.

"DEAR WIN," it ran, "I've just arrived in town and am wishing I was back in Jersey. As the steamer sailed, I looked over at St Aubin's and thought of you. You couldn't see me of course, both for fog and because I was in the wheel-house with the pilot, Jim Trott, a fellow from Gorey village.

"Probably you thought that we didn't get into the cave on Monday on account of the weather. It was beastly, but I decided to try, and when Connie knew my plan, she insisted on going with me. Pierre came too, with a lantern and we went down without much trouble.

"Pierre and I tackled your stone pile at once and we pitched quantities aside, but couldn't finish because Connie, who was watching the tide, called a halt too soon. But we cleared enough rocks away to feel rather sure there is an opening of some kind beyond; just possibly the passage you are so keen on, more probably connecting with another cave. The Jersey cliffs are honey-combed with them. How's that for exciting news?

"Connie haled us out before there was really any need and of course the tide did not serve for us to go again. When I come at Easter, I'll finish the job if necessary. After playing ball with several tons of stone, we then explored the vaults, armed with a hammer and a long line.

"Well, old fellow, I pounded that north wall inch by inch and I can't conscientiously say I struck anything that sounded at all hollow. But still, it's not like tapping on plaster or wood; one couldn't reasonably expect the same result for the stone is probably some feet thick. And if the whole wall is the side of the tunnel, naturally it would all sound alike, so that test doesn't really prove or disprove anything.

"The discovery Connie and I did make, and to my mind it is rather important, is that you are right in thinking that there is a discrepancy between the walls of the oldest vault and the adjacent cellar. Outside the house, the foundation wall runs flush the length of the library and the wing beyond; inside, that same foundation wall doesn't jibe. According to our measurements, there is a difference of over a metre, almost four feet, in the length of the partition at right angles to the north wall as reckoned on either side. This certainly bears out your theory of a passage running along that wall.

"We looked very carefully but could not detect that there had ever been any opening, but all the masonry is so rough that perhaps we couldn't expect to find it.

"Uncle Dick is interested but sceptical, says the difference in measurement may be accounted for by walls built at different times. When he thinks it over a little, he will see that no Lisle in his senses,—and the Lisles possess sense,—would have put four extra feet of solidity into a wall which had no earthly reason to need such treatment. But he said that when I came at Easter, we may have a mason and knock a hole wherever we choose. Messing about in the cellar is a harmless amusement that may keep us out of mischief and provide employment for some deserving workman. Before that date, I trust you will succeed in getting Uncle Dick into a less doubting frame of mind. Easter is but a month away and if all goes well, I'll surely be back and we will hunt that Spanish chest to its lair.

"Had no adventures coming here. Jean seemed relieved when I told him to drive. When I reached my rooms, I found a note directing me to report for duty to-morrow prepared to show some important American from the western States the sights of Paris. That means a gay and giddy day. I only hope I sha'n't have to interpret while he buys hats for Madam and the young ladies at home. Once I was let in for that and it was pretty sickening. I've often wondered what the ladies thought of those hats. I also hope he won't be keen on climbing the Eiffel tower, for that's one of the things that's not done in Paris.

"I must go to bed for it is after two and my day to-morrow, or rather to-day, may include an evening as well.

"Till Easter then adieu, and all best wishes,

"M. R. HAMILTON."

This letter naturally afforded Win a great deal of satisfaction and his interest and pleasure were shared by the others. To wait a whole month to solve the mystery of the Spanish chest when so distinct a clue appeared already in his hand, was a trial of patience. Naturally Colonel Lisle would not be likely to go ahead in the matter until Max returned to inspire action by his youthful enthusiasm, and it was only fair that Max should be in at the finish. Win wondered whether Connie shared the Colonel's scepticism. This proved not the case, only that Connie and her father were going to London for a week or two and the little lady of the Manor had other ideas to occupy her pretty head.

"We may even run over to Paris," she announced during a farewell call at Rose Villa. "Max has been begging us ever since he was sent there, so it's possible we may cross for a few days and plan so that we come back together at Easter."

"Wouldn't it be jolly to go around Paris with Mr. Max," said Win almost enviously. "I haven't forgotten how dandy he was to me in Washington. Dad took me along when he was calling on some official and then found he was in for a morning's conference. The Secretary sent for a young man, who proved to be Mr. Max and told him to look after me. I was only fifteen, but Mr. Max took as much pains to give me a good time as though I'd been somebody really important."

"That's like Max," said Connie briefly, her eyes showing pleasure at Win's tribute. "I think he's detailed for service such as that more often than the other young men of the Embassy because he gets on so well with all sorts of people. It's a real gift and a very valuable one for a prospective diplomat. But you are celebrating one of your great national days this week, aren't you?"

"Yes, Washington's birthday," said Frances. "Luckily it comes on
Wednesday, so we have a holiday. We were going to have a picnic at
CorbiÉre and invite you, Miss Connie."

"Indeed, I wish I could be there," said Constance with genuine regret in her voice, "but I'll be in London. We'll keep up our spirits by remembering that it's only a brief time to Easter and then we are to start again on the trail of the Spanish chest."

Estelle consented to join the holiday celebration, and when the twenty-second dawned bright and sunny, Rose Villa was the scene of an animated flurry. In the dining-room, Edith, Frances and Estelle were putting up the lunch, while Win collected painting traps for the picture he hoped to sketch, and Roger departed to bring the pony and cart engaged for the day.

CorbiÉre Point was distant about four miles and all except Win and his mother proposed to walk, since the little carriage could take lunch baskets and wraps.

Roger appeared with a plump stubborn Welsh pony, attached to a funny little cart which he gayly informed them was a "gingle." Neither Edith nor Estelle, who were familiar with the term as used in Cornwall, thought it odd but Roger considered it most absurd.

Even the short legs of a tiny pony could cover the ground more rapidly than the walking party, and when the pedestrians reached their destination, no sign of Win, his mother, pony or gingle was visible.

"Oh, what a wonderful view!" exclaimed Estelle stopping short.

Before them lay CorbiÉre lighthouse, built on a bold rock, at flood tide an island, but at this hour approachable from the mainland by a causeway. In the foreground stretched an expanse of jagged red reefs and shining pools with a single martello tower rising in dignified grandeur. At the right lay a hill, its summit crowned by one stone cottage with a thatched roof, and down the hill a narrow road wandered to disappear in a cleft between two gigantic red granite boulders sprinkled with glittering quartz and partly covered with gray and bright orange lichens. Green grass and turquoise blue sea with a single white sail dipping to the horizon completed the color scheme. Near at hand hovered several of the sea-crows, corbiÉres, which have given the point its name.

Estelle's soft eyes grew wide and a pretty pink flush came into her usually pale cheeks as she gazed into the distance. Roger and the girls were looking for the rest of the party.

The thatched cottage seemed utterly without life, windows blank and no sign of any domestic proceedings.

"It must be deserted," said Edith as they strolled on.

"Here's a shed with something black in it," said Roger. "I can just see its head. It's a goat."

"It's a black stocking hung to dry," declared Edith.

"Stocking, nothing," replied Roger. "I know it's a goat."

The two hung over the gate and deliberately stared into the little shed. "No goat ever stopped still for so long," persisted Edith, when three full minutes had passed without motion in the shed.

"I'll go in and see," began Roger, about to climb the gate. A sudden exclamation from Frances deterred him.

"Goodness, here's a black cat! Where did it come from?"

Upon the doorstep now sat a perfectly motionless black cat.

"Look at the black hens!" added Edith, bursting into laughter.

At either corner of the stone cottage two coal black hens were visible, also like statues, and possessing bright yellow eyes.

"And a black dog in a barrel!" Frances fairly shrieked.

"Well, a dog has some sense!" said Roger, whistling and calling. Strange to say, the dog neither stirred nor lifted its head. Nose on its paws it remained absolutely still.

"This is a bum lot of animals," observed Roger. "I never saw a dog before that wouldn't at least bark at strangers."

"It's probably dumb as well as deaf," commented Frances.

"But it might at least move," expostulated Roger. "Perhaps it's paralyzed."

"Perhaps this cottage and everything about it is enchanted," suggested Edith. "Miss Connie said something, don't you remember, about a place where the Jersey witches hold their meetings?"

"That is 'way the other end of the island," retorted Roger, "down at
St. Clement's."

There was something uncanny about that collection of dusky, motionless animals and the three were conscious of real relief when the two hens at last walked off in quite a hen-like, not to say human manner. But cat, dog and goat remained as though petrified.

"Mother's calling," said Frances. "Come along, Roger. Lunch!"

Roger postponed his intention of stirring up the dog to see whether it was stuffed or paralyzed, and they turned in the direction of the call.

Luncheon was already spread on the grass in shelter of a big rock, the
Stars and Stripes forming the table decoration. At sight of the flag,
Roger and Fran stopped and saluted gravely as their father had taught
them.

"Mother!" exclaimed Roger, his eyes widening. "Is that a chocolate layer-cake? Where did it come from?"

"I made it," said Mrs. Thayne. "Miss Estelle said I might and Annette was quite pleased to watch me, and see how an American cake was constructed."

No doubt that the young people were frankly happy, though spending this holiday in so unusual a fashion. After luncheon, Win prepared to sketch the lighthouse and the other three proposed to visit it.

As they ran down the hill toward the causeway and the heap of picturesque red rocks bared by the water, Mrs. Thayne settled herself with her embroidery and Estelle produced her netting.

After a few moments spent consulting with Win as to the exact angle desirable for his sketch, Mrs. Thayne felt for her watch, remembered that she did not bring it and looked at Estelle.

"Will you tell me the time?" she asked. "Win's hands are full with his palette and block."

"Certainly," said Estelle. "It's just two."

As she replaced her watch, a sudden look of interest crossed Mrs.
Thayne's face.

"What a curious chain you have, Estelle," she remarked. "Is it an old one? May I take it a moment?"

"It belonged to my grandmother, my mother's mother," replied Estelle, unfastening the chain and holding it out to Mrs. Thayne. "I think it is very old for I never saw another like it."

Mrs. Thayne examined the trinket carefully. It was hand-made, of pale yellow gold, and the links, instead of being round, were rectangular, yet so fastened in a series of three as to produce the effect of a round cable.

"It is an awkward thing to use," said Estelle, "because sometimes those links get turned and it is very difficult to work them into place."

Mrs. Thayne looked up, a curiously intent expression on her face.
"Estelle," she said abruptly, "have you any relatives in America?"

"Not that I know of," Estelle replied, surprised by the sudden question, "though I suppose it is quite possible. Grandmother's sister married a young man who went out to the colonies, somewhere near Toronto, I think. We have known nothing of them since Grandmother died and that was before I was born. I think Mother completely lost touch with Great-aunt Emma. It is easy, you know, when one belongs to a different generation and has never seen one's aunt."

"Then you don't know whether your Great-aunt Emma had children?" asked
Mrs. Thayne, twisting the odd chain reflectively between her fingers.

"Oh, yes," said Estelle. "I do happen to know that. There were two, a girl and a boy. Now I think of it, I recall that the girl married and went to the States. I do not know how one speaks of your counties, but it was not the city of New York,—perhaps New Yorkshire?"

"New York State," put in Win so abruptly that his mother jumped. To all appearances he had been completely absorbed in his painting.

"But you don't know the name of the man she married?" Mrs. Thayne asked.

"I do not," replied Estelle. "But I could find out, for it will be among Father's papers. I think he had a hazy idea of writing some time to Canada to get in touch if possible with Mother's relatives. But it was never done, and I should hesitate to do it,—especially now."

"Lest they might think you were seeking aid," Mrs. Thayne thought, with a tender appreciation of Estelle's proud independence, but she kept her inference to herself.

"Do you know whether your grandmother's sister who went to Canada also possessed a chain like this?" she asked.

"Why, yes," said Estelle, laying down her work and looking out to sea.
"I know she did. Great-grandfather Avery once bought two just alike in
Paris and gave one to each of his daughters. This came to me through
Mother."

Mrs. Thayne started to speak but caught Win's eyes fixed upon her inquiringly. Something in their expression checked the words she was about to utter.

"After all, better be sure," she thought. "It is a very curious old trinket, Estelle," she said, returning the chain. "Some time when you think of it, I wish you would look in your father's papers and find the married name of that cousin who went to New York State."