No more was heard from the Count. Dalton and Jack spent a busy week, working together and becoming very well acquainted. They were of almost the same age with many ideas in common. Jack was intending to enter a university in the autumn and tried to persuade Dalton to enter with him, but Dalton told him that he was the man of the family and while it had been a matter of course to expect a college education while his father lived, it might not be best now. He had that matter to decide. If he went, he would work his way almost entirely.

The girls had savory lunches for the boys, but they were often out on interesting affairs of their own about which they said little either to Beth, Dalton or Jack. The Sea Crest and the little row boat dubbed the “Swallow” were in frequent use. For the most part the girls wore their bathing suits, with raincoats or heavy coats over them, according to the weather. They swam near the beach, they made trips to the village; they climbed over the rocks, and under Peggy’s leadership they became acquainted with the literal ups and downs of the rocky paths around Steeple Rocks. They talked of secrets and mysteries before the boys, inviting their questions, but Dalton and Jack claimed that if they had anything to tell they would tell it.

“Oh, you’ll be sorry!” cried Peggy to Dalton, whom she liked very much, it seemed, “when we find out why is Pirates’ Cove or uncover a pirate hoard, or something!”

“If you find it on our side, Miss, it belongs to us!”

“Finders keepers, Dal,” laughed Peggy.

Of the girls Leslie was Peggy’s favorite, but Sarita had no reason to be jealous, since Peggy was too much younger to spoil the old close relation between the older girls. Yet Peggy was a bit of fire and energy and real lovableness to them both, and old enough in her ways to adapt herself to them if they forgot to adapt their plans to Peggy. Through Sarita, Peggy was introduced to the different gulls and other sea birds that flapped or sailed or flew over the bay and in the woods. Leslie knew them too and Peggy was envious, she said, until she found out that looking through Sarita’s good lenses, she, too, could distinguish the differences and learn to identify some of them. The little sandpipers that flew in wheeling flocks or skimmed with rapid feet over the sands were her particular delight.

Leslie and Sarita wondered what Peggy’s real name might be, if Mr. Ives were only her step-father, but Peggy did not seem inclined to talk about herself and they were too polite to ask. That she had been christened Marguerite, Margaret, or some other more dignified name than Peggy they naturally supposed, but they were puzzled a little, as doubtless mischievous Peggy intended, when she wrote large upon the sand one day at the beach the name Angelina.

“That, of course, is my real name, and Mother used to call me Angel sometimes till Dad said that it wasn’t very ‘characteristic.’” But Peggy’s pretty lips were parted in what might easily be called an impish grin.

“Don’t tell whoppers, little girl,” advised Sarita.

“Thanks. I’m glad you think that ‘Angel’ is appropriate.”

“Your lightning deductions are something wonderful,” lazily said Leslie, who was lying on the sand in the sun. It was really a hot morning “for once,” as Peggy said, and the girls could safely take their time to their dip. Peggy was telling them about bathing in Florida, and how she loved it. “But I’m glad to be here with you girls now and the peppy days that we usually have here just suit me. How about going around home after a while, letting me have a lunch fixed up and exploring that little cave we found. Perhaps there is a passage to that hole in Pirates’ Cove.”

“Whoever heard of a hole in a Cove?” Sarita queried.

“You know what I mean, the hole in the rocks there.”

Leslie jumped to her feet. “Come on, then. Let’s do something. One more dip and then for camp!”

Three heads bobbed up and down in the surf as they tossed a big ball, one that Peggy had brought from Florida, from one to another while they swam. By this time they had learned where it was safe for them and where the undertow might be a little too strong. Dalton, who was a strong swimmer, had both inquired and investigated.

A run and a climb and running again brought them into camp, where they changed to dry garments and started on a hike through the woods toward Steeple Rocks. By this time Leslie and Sarita had become quite familiar with the way. They scarcely liked to appear at the great house there just because they knew that Mr. Ives was away; yet Peggy frankly wanted them, and her mother cordially urged them to come often. She thanked them for making life at the coast so pleasant to Peggy.

Count Herschfeld was away, too. Peggy said that it was like a different place with him away and openly rejoiced in the absence of “the Kravetz,” as Jack called her, most disrespectfully. Where she had gone Peggy did not know. The pleasant fact was enough for her she told the girls, though not in just those words. Peggy was a great girl to “rattle on,” Sarita said; but Leslie thought that there was always a point to Peggy’s remarks and enjoyed them.

When they arrived at Steeple Rocks, Peggy ran in to interview the housekeeper, while Leslie and Sarita strolled about the grounds, which by this time were in their prettiest summer garb. In part the gardens were formal, but there were nooks cleverly wild, yet rescued from the uncomfortable features of real wildness. They sat down on a rustic bench near the tennis court and surveyed the arbors, the porches, the solid, handsome house, the mass of Beth’s Cathedral Rocks and their steeple spires, towering behind and above.

“Grim and mysterious, aren’t they, Sarita?”

“Yes, Leslie. I rather like the distant view best.”

“We get advantage of the distance for the outlines.”

“I wonder if Mr. Ives has built anything into the rock,—I mean bored or blasted into it See how closely that wall joins the rock.”

“That is where Mr. Ives’ library and office are, Peggy said, and I think that she mentioned a safe built into the rock. She said that was why he keeps everybody away from that part of the house.”

“Oh, he does, does he?”

“So Peggy said. She says it’s no temptation to her to go near his ‘old office.’”

Sarita smiled. “Peggy has turned out to be the most enthusiastic member of our ‘triumvirate.’ Do you like her mother?”

“I don’t know what to think of Mrs. Ives. She is lovely to us and she seems to think a great deal of Peggy, if she does turn her over to other people. Perhaps she has to. Do you remember Mrs. Peacock? She didn’t do a thing but preen her feathers and play bridge and golf till the crash came; then she gathered up her kiddies from various schools and went to work to take care of them.”

“Yes. It’s hard to tell about the society women.”

The girls rose as they saw Peggy tripping down the steps with a picnic basket in her hand. They joined her and went toward the path which led around into the rocks. They crossed the path by which they had entered the grounds from their own and the Ives’ woods, crossing also the rocky way with the steps which led down to the dock where the Ives’ yacht was supposed to stay.

On a narrow ledge to their left they had need to be careful, but it led to a small cave which they had discovered before. It was not like one hollowed out by the action of water, but more like a space in the midst of rocks which some giant had been piling, one upon another. There were cracks and fissures, too, and the retreat was large enough to be interesting.

“I’ve got sandwiches and doughnuts, pickles, some shrimp salad, and a blueberry pie,” Peggy announced, “and there is some lemonade in the ‘icy-hot.’” She swung the basket to the rocky floor as she spoke and sat down beside it.

“You are all hot with climbing and carrying that basket,” sympathetically said Leslie. “You should have let me carry it part of the way as I wanted to.”

“It helped me swing around that narrow place,” laughed Peggy. “Besides, let the hostess provide the eats.”

“Are you hostess?”

“Isn’t this Steeple Rocks? I know that you are laughing at the lunch, but those were the things I found and they all looked good.”

“I know by experience, Peggy, that anything from your house is good,” said Leslie. “This isn’t the first time that you have treated us. Hurrah for blueberry pie in Maine! We found a new place for blueberries, Peggy, scrumptious ones.”

Peggy had saluted when Leslie complimented the Steeple Rocks cooking. Now she changed expression. “Fee, Fi, Fo, Fum, I smell the—smoke of an English-mun! Isn’t that funny? Don’t you smell cigar smoke, girls?”

“I believe I do a little, Peggy,” Sarita replied. She was at the opening, and taking a careful step or two she looked over the ledge, her hand on a rocky protuberance for safety’s sake. “Somebody’s going down toward the dock. Perhaps we are getting a whiff from the pipe he is smoking.”

“Please see who it is, Sarita, if you can without being seen. Mother said that Dad might be home to-day, and if he is, I want to keep out of sight as much as possible.”

Leslie, listening, puckered her brows and Peggy saw her.

“Now Leslie, don’t worry. It isn’t bad of me to keep out of trouble. You just don’t understand, that’s all.” Peggy gave Leslie an engaging look out of frank, affectionate eyes.

“Little flirt,” laughed Leslie. “She knows, Sarita, that she only has to look at us with ‘them eyes’ to have us melt. Why don’t you try that on Mr. Ives?”

“You think that I’m just pretending! I don’t like you any mare, Leslie Secrest!” But Peggy was half smiling as she spoke and Leslie did not apologize.

Sarita was still looking out over the ledge. Then quickly she stepped back behind the jutting rocks and plumped herself down by the other girls. “It’s Bill,” she said. “He was going on down, but I couldn’t get a good look at him till he suddenly turned; and then I was afraid that he would see me watching him,—hence my sudden retreat!”

“Could there be some other ledge along here, and someone on it?” Leslie suggested. “This one ends here, I suppose, with that big bulge of rock.”

“Suppose we fasten a sign of some sort here and then look up from below and see just what is near us here. That does not smell like a pipe, and I can smell it yet. Can’t you?”

“Yes, Peggy, though not so much,” said Leslie. “Sarita, this is more like an Eyrie than ours, isn’t it? You can see most of the bay, our headland, the sea and a bit of the village from here. Do you suppose that we can see this with our ‘mind’s eye’ next winter when we are digging into our books and have nothing better to look at than the flat plains of home?”

“I wonder,” said Sarita. Below them lay the bay, sparkling in the sun. Its salty waves leaped up on many a half-submerged rock near the shore, that sent back the spray. Beyond the rim of confining rocks and the Secrest headland, the sea surged more quietly than usual, though there was a line of breakers to be seen. The sky was a deep blue, its clouds in heaps of billowing, floating white.

“This,” said Peggy, “is the home of the ‘triumvirate.’”

“‘Triumvirate’ is not exactly appropriate, Peggy,” Sarita remarked.

“No,” said Leslie. “How about the Three Bears?”

“Who’s been sitting in my chair?” squeaked Peggy in a high voice.

They all laughed. It did not take much to make them laugh to-day. Peggy was rummaging in her basket and now handed out some paper napkins. “Let’s have a good name, then,” she continued. “What would a triumvirate of girls be?”

“Femina is the Latin word for woman,” said Leslie. “Put it in place of vir and see what you have.”

“Tri-tri—” began Peggy, thinking; “trium-feminate!” she triumphantly finished, flourishing a bottle of olives so vigorously that the cork, previously loosened, came out and the liquid spilled.

Soon the girls were munching sandwiches and olives, drinking copiously of the cold lemonade and talking as busily as ever of Jack, Dalton and the prospective log house; of the queer happenings at camp and at sea; and of their secret, the ‘mystery’, in regard to which they had teased or tried to tease the boys.

“Tell me again, Peggy,” said Leslie, “just what you heard said and just where it was. I want to get it straight. It may be that we ought to tell Dal and Beth.”

“It’s all right with me, Leslie, if you do,” said Peggy. “I’m sure that Dad has something up with the Count, and if either he or the Count are going to do anything to you folks, I don’t want it to happen. But I’m hoping, of course, that for Mother’s sake Dad isn’t into anything real wicked.

“Well, it was the night after he was supposed to have gone away that last time. I was as wide awake as anything and I thought that I’d slip out of the house and go down to the shore a while. The house was all still, you know, and I guess it must have been about two o’clock. I would have taken my bathing suit for a dip, but I promised Mother that I would never go in all alone. So I just slipped out in my silk negligee and slippers, though it was a little shivery.

“I sauntered down the long flight of steps, holding to the railing, and all at once I heard Dad’s voice below me. I almost ran up the steps in a hurry, but what I heard was interesting, so I scrooched down on the step right where I was to listen a minute. That was curiosity, I’ll admit, and I ought to have been noble enough not to have done it,—only that things are queer, and when they are, a body has some right to find out. What do you think, Leslie?”

“I don’t know, Peggy; but it does seem that way.”

“Anyhow Dad was saying next, ‘They are not mere children to be frightened and driven off as you supposed. If I had known that what you told me was an absolute lie, I wouldn’t have gone as far in my statement to them as I did. Just let it drop.’”

Peggy’s air and dignified speech so reminded the girls of the suave Mr. Ives that both of them smiled broadly. The words were brutally frank, but Peggy’s tone robbed them of sharpness. Now she was the cold Count in her recital. The girls could fairly see him draw himself up in courteous resentment.

“‘You do not mince words, I see. It was the only way to produce the effect through you. If you believed it yourself, you could intimidate them.’”

“‘But they were not intimidated. I do not like this intimacy with my daughter any more than you do. But the first object must be to avoid suspicion. I would suggest that we employ’—then I missed a few words just at the important place! Dad dropped his voice a little, and you know how the surf roars sometimes. But I got one clue or one thing that might be as important. The Count started in to talk. ‘See to it,’ he said, ‘that they’—then a mumble of words—‘by the twenty-eighth.’

“I said it over to myself, so I wouldn’t forget to tell you girls exactly what had been said, and then I realized that Dad was coming up the steps. They shook, as you remember they do a little when somebody walks. It was too far to get to the top before he reached me, so what did I do but whisk out to the side and drop under the steps to wait till he passed!”

“But it is some distance, in places, to the rocks underneath!”

Peggy nodded. “I knew it, but it was ‘instinctive,’ as you say, Leslie, to get out of Dad’s way, and by good luck a nice rock was reachable under my step. I just scrooched there again till Dad went by and I’m sure he never saw me. I waited, because I thought the Count might come next, but he never did, and I was so curious that when I hitched up again—you ought to have seen my acrobatic performance, girls,—I sneaked down the steps to the bottom and finally all around the place and never a sign did I see of the Count. There wasn’t a sign of a boat, either, and there had scarcely been time, I think, for a boat to get around behind the channel entrance.”

“I don’t know,” Leslie said. “You may have taken more time than you thought.”

“Perhaps so, but wouldn’t I have heard a boat?”

“A launch certainly, but not a row boat against the sound of the surf if it was rather rough that night.”

“Perhaps the Count was behind a tree,” Sarita suggested.

Peggy looked at Sarita to see if she were in earnest. “You know very well, Sarita, that there isn’t a tree there!”