(Continued from page 63.)

As soon as Georgie was disposed of, the other children set off racing each other about, up and down the old disused part of the house, the empty passages echoing to the sound of their fun and laughter.

'Alan,' said Marjorie, when, breathless and somewhat tired, the three explorers had reached a small turret room into which was shining a ray of sunshine from a rift in the clouds—'I wonder if you would laugh if I told you something.'

Estelle had climbed on a chair and was leaning out of the narrow window, with a longing for the fresh, sweet air outside; Alan was tapping all the panelling to see if any discoveries were lying in wait for him.

'Why should I laugh?' he returned, in a preoccupied voice.

'Please don't, then. I really and truly saw some men creeping round the tower!'

'No!' cried Alan, startled into interest at once.

'Yes, I did. You know there is no reason for anybody to go there. It's never used, and the shrubs are only trimmed once a year, because Auntie doesn't like people about there often.'

'You didn't see who it was?'

'No; I only saw their backs. They were stooping, as if to hide themselves.'

'Did they wear dark, long cloaks?' asked Estelle, suddenly, turning round from the window.

'Yes, with dark caps.'

'Then I have just seen them go under the tower, with a bag and a basket.'

Alan looked from one to the other in silence. Should he speak? Did he dare to trust them? It seemed time to act, but what was he to do without more knowledge than he possessed at present? Was it not possible to gain it—now, even? The men were below somewhere, doing something. They had probably taken advantage of the rain, and the consequent absence of the family and gardeners from the grounds. No one would dream of being out on such a day, and the prospect from the windows was too uninviting to fear many watchers. Alan felt sure this was the way the men had reasoned; and it was clearly his policy to keep them in ignorance of their nearness to the party of children, and yet to manage somehow to watch their movements. If only the girls could help him! He thought he could depend on Marjorie. But Estelle was quite different—nervous and imaginative. Alan knew this, but he could not ask her to leave him and Marjorie to track these men; nor could he propose to her to come with them—the danger of betrayal was too great. Of course, she might keep quiet; but then, again, she might not.

'I tell you what,' he said at length, looking at the two girls, who were watching him anxiously, 'you two had better stay here, and I will go down and have a look round. If I don't come back soon—say in five or ten minutes—don't wait for me, but go down and amuse yourselves. I will be back as soon as I can.'

'Let me go with you,' said Marjorie, earnestly. 'Two are better than one, and you know you can trust me.'

He had expected this, but before he could reply, Estelle broke in with, 'And can't you trust me, too, Alan?'

'The fact is,' he answered, somewhat in doubt how to act, 'I don't know what we shall see; or what will happen if we are seen. It is most important we should not betray ourselves; and in order to manage this, we must keep very, very quiet. Whatever happens, there must be no noise, not even a whisper. Suppose you were frightened, what would you do, Estelle? Don't you think you had better go to the schoolroom, and wait for us? Marjorie can go with you if you like, but, as she says, two are better than one.'

Tears came into Estelle's eyes, but she said, with a good deal of resolution in her gentle voice, 'If you wish, I will go to Aunt Betty. Georgie is with her. I don't want to be in your way. But though I'm not as brave as Marjorie, I can keep quiet, and I—I think you could trust me not to scream or make a noise. If I feel inclined to, I will creep away.'

'All right,' replied Alan. He was fond of his little cousin, and could not bear to see her distressed. 'Come along, then; only remember this, there must be no talking, no moving about, and you must do what I tell you directly without any questions. Will you both promise?'

This little matter settled, the three children set off on their way clown the narrow spiral staircase, at the bottom of which Alan, who led the way, stopped in order to assist the girls over some rotten boards. The whole passage required careful walking, to avoid dangerous holes, and thin, dry-rotting boards.

The lower they went the darker it grew, and the more cautiously they had to tread, till at last they came to such a gloomy region that seeing their footsteps became impossible. Yet they dared not light a match. They must almost have reached the cellars when Alan felt he had come against a door, and whispered to the others to stop. Feeling about with his fingers he encountered a latch, and in another moment the light was shining in on them through a slit-like groove in the thick walls. The stairs still went down, down, much to their disappointment, but no thought of giving up occurred to any of them. They followed each other noiselessly, Estelle the last of the three, when suddenly, just as they had reached a sort of circular stone hall, they heard the grating sound of a door being forced open on rusty hinges. In an instant Alan had drawn the girls back into the shadow of the winding stairs, where they could all remain without betraying their presence. Estelle, being the farthest back, could see nothing, for which she was duly thankful; but Marjorie and Alan sat as still as mice, their eyes on the opening door.

Two men were seen to enter, and, after closing the door, they proceeded to light a lantern. They evidently felt quite safe here, for they did not even lower their voices. A bag of tools was laid on the floor, and now came the moment of danger. Uncertain which of the doors round the stone hall was the one they wanted, they began a tour of inspection, turning the brilliant light of the lantern on each as they came to it. Alan saw that they must pass the foot of the staircase, and that they would certainly bring the lantern to bear on it. This would reveal Marjorie and himself sitting there. With a touch, he drew Marjorie's attention to the danger, and, in an instant, Estelle was made aware of the necessity of going higher up in order that the others might slip out of sight. It was an anxious moment, however, for what if the men took it into their heads to mount the stairs?

Alan listened with strained ears, but, as far as he could make out, they were intent on finding some mark which indicated the door they were in search of. He was comforting himself with this when he saw, by the sudden light on the wall, that the lantern was turned on the stairs.

'Sure it is down here?' said a gruff voice in a surly tone, 'It's no use our going on a wild-goose chase. We are below ground here, and it's not unlikely the door is above-stairs, more on a level with the house.'

'We have not been round them all down here yet,' came the reply in the voice of Thomas. 'I don't know the door any better than you, but we can look till we find it.'

'And if it isn't down here, why we will just go up. I suppose there's no danger of folks coming down the stairs and spying on us?'

'Bless you, it isn't every one has the courage to come here at all. It is haunted, they say; but I don't believe in that sort of ghosts. Come along, and let's finish the hall first.'

With that they moved away, and the stairs were again in deep shadow. Alan indicated to Marjorie that she was to stay where she was. He himself resumed his old seat lower down, whence he could view all that took place.

Slowly and cautiously the men continued their investigations, but apparently with no success. The doors were all precisely alike, all of solid oak, and heavily studded with great nails. The locks looked as if they would take hours—perhaps days—to pick, and to attempt to open them in any other way appeared to be hopeless. After some angry discussion, it was at length determined to mount the stairs and try to find the door they wanted. Alan was on his feet at once, ready to dart out of sight as soon as needful, when suddenly there was a hideous baying and barking at the door by which the men had entered, and almost before the children were aware of what had happened, the two men were flying up the stairs in the hope of avoiding pursuit. The dogs had been let loose, and were on the track of the invaders.

In a panic Alan fled up the stairs, the two girls before him, only just so far ahead as to keep out of sight, aided happily by the darkness, for the lantern had been put out.

How long they could keep ahead had yet to be seen.

(Continued on page 74.)