When Agnes reached the dining room again, the circus girl was gone. She tried the key in the lock of the cupboard door. Just as Aunt Sarah Maltby said, it would not turn. Something had fouled the lock.

“I do declare!” thought the troubled and perplexed Agnes. “This is the strangest thing. I never did want to get into this old cupboard before; but I feel now as though I’d just got to.

“There surely is something in it besides Aunt Sarah’s peppermints. Barnabetta told the truth about Aunt Sarah; but she had a personal reason for wanting to open the door, too. I’m certain of that. Dear me! What is this mystery? I want to know.”

She did not see how she could pick the lock of the closet door herself. She knew nothing about such work. Agnes wished Neale were friendly with them so that she could ask him.

And then immediately she was smitten with the thought that Neale O’Neil was another person who seemed curious about what was in the closet.

“Oh, dear me!” murmured Agnes. “What a terrible mix-up this is. What ever shall I do about it?”

Her greatest desire, next to being friends with Neale O’Neil again, was to take Ruth into her confidence about her adventure Saturday night with the mysterious burglar. But because suspicion must point directly to Neale, she could not bring herself to talk it over with her sister.

And Ruth, fearing to take anybody into her confidence regarding the real ownership of the lost treasure, was passing through a sea of troubled waters without even Agnes to confess to. The oldest Corner House girl was, at this very moment, sitting in her room trying to compose a letter to Mr. Howbridge that should reveal the whole story. She supposed the lawyer’s clerk would know how to reach him, for Ruth had forgotten that Tiverton was the name of the town to which Mr. Howbridge had been called by his brother’s illness.

With her pen poised over the page of her letter she wondered how she should word her confession to Mr. Howbridge. For Ruth felt that she, herself, was much to blame for the final loss of the treasure.

Although she blamed Neale to her sister, in her heart Ruth knew that had she been wiser in the first place, all this mystery and difficulty following the odd find in the Corner House garret, would never have arisen.

If she had done one of two things, right then and there, she saw now that the album would never have gone out of her custody.

She should either have taken Agnes and Neale into her confidence and shown them the book, and told them she had extracted one of the ten dollar bills to show to Mr. Crouch at the bank; or she should have locked the old album away in a perfectly safe place until the value of the paper could be determined.

It is only human nature to look for some scapegoat for our sins. Knowing herself to have neglected proper precautions, it was quite natural that Ruth should blame Neale. But now she blamed herself. Poor Mrs. Eland! And poor Miss Pepperill! In her heart of hearts Ruth had longed to do something worth while to help the two unfortunate ladies. And all the time a fortune belonging to them was hid away in the garret of the old Corner House.

“Oh, dear me!” she moaned, sitting over her unfinished letter. “Why should they be punished for my neglect? It is not fair!”

She heard a door open, and then voices. The sound was right on this floor.

“I tell you we’ve got to go, Pop. Well slip out of the side door and nobody will notice us. It’s gettin’ dark,” said an anxious young voice.

“I don’t see why we got to go, Barney,” responded a querulous voice.

“I tell you we can’t stay here another minute. Seems to me I shall die if we do!”

Ruth sprang up and ran softly to the door of her room. Asa Scruggs’ complaining voice retorted:

“I don’t know what’s got inter ye, Barney. You know I can’t hobble a block. These folks is mighty kind. We ain’t got a right to treat ’em so.”

“We’re treatin’ ’em better by goin’ away than by stayin’,” declared the other voice. “I tell you, Pop, we’ve got to go!”

Ruth opened her door. A lithe, boyish figure was aiding the limping clown along the passage toward the back stairway. But the face the strange figure turned to Ruth was that of Barnabetta Scruggs.

“Why! Why, Barnabetta!” gasped the Corner House girl in vast amazement.

Barnabetta was dumb. The weak mouth of the old circus clown trembled, and his eyes blinked, as he stood there on one foot, and stared, speechless, at their hostess.

“Why, Barnabetta!” cried Ruth again. “What ever is the matter?”

“We’re goin’,” said the circus girl, sullenly.

“Going where?”

“Well! we’re not goin’ to stay here,” said Barnabetta.

“Why, Barnabetta! Why not?”

“We’re not—that’s all,” ejaculated the trapeze artist.

“But I am sure your father isn’t fit to leave the house,” Ruth said. “Surely, you know you are welcome to remain till he is quite well.”

“We’ve got no business here. We never ought to’ve come,” said Barnabetta.

“Why not? You make us no trouble. I am sure you have been treated kindly.”

“What for?” snapped Barnabetta. “You folks have got no call to treat us kind. We’re nothin’ to you.”

“Oh, Barnabetta! I thought we were friends,” the Corner House girl said, really grieved by this. “I would not keep you a moment longer than you wish to stay; but I hope you understand that you and Mr. Scruggs are perfectly welcome here.

“And I don’t want you to go away in those boy’s clothes, Barnabetta. You tell me your other clothing is all in your trunk at the express office in Tiverton. Why not send for it? But the frock and other things I let you have, I meant for you to keep.”

“I don’t want ’em,” said Barnabetta, ungratefully. “If we’ve got to tramp it, I can’t be bothered with skirts.”

“But my dear!” cried Ruth, desperately, “your father can’t walk. Of course he can’t!”

“We’ve got to get down South where we can get a job with some tent show,” Barnabetta declared, deaf to Ruth’s objections.

“Mr. Scruggs! You know you can’t get there,” Ruth cried. “And if you really must go, Barnabetta—”

“I can get a job, anyway,” said the girl.

“Then let me help you on your way. Where do you want to go? Maybe I can pay your fare and you can pay me back when—when you have luck again.”

“Hear that, Barney?” gasped Asa Scruggs. “She’s right. I can’t walk yet.”

“I’m not goin’ to take money from these girls!”

“Only as a loan?” begged Ruth.

“Aw—we’ll never get so we could pay you back,” groaned Barnabetta, hopelessly. “We’re in bad, and that’s all there is to it.”

Mr. Scruggs leaned against the wall and looked at Ruth timidly. Evidently he had been all through the argument with his stubborn daughter already.

“I cannot understand you, Barnabetta,” said Ruth, sadly. “For your father’s sake—at least, let him stay with us till his ankle is better.”

“He can stay,” said Barnabetta, quickly. “If he will.”

“We’ve never been separated yet, miss,” Asa Scruggs said to Ruth, excusingly. “Not since her mother left her to me—a baby in arms.

“Barnabetta was brought up in the circus. I cradled her in my make-up tray, and she slept there, or sucked at her bottle, when I was out in the ring doin’ my turn as a joey.

“She ain’t had much experience outside the big top. She couldn’t be sure of gettin’ a safe job—only a young gal like her—lest I was with her.”

“Why!” exclaimed Ruth, more cheerfully. “Let her wait here—with you—Mr. Scruggs. Maybe we can find her a job right here in Milton, until your ankle is well enough for you to travel.”

“Huh!” snorted Barnabetta. “Who wants a lady acrobat, I’d like to know, in this ‘hick’ burg?”

“But, can’t you do anything else, Barnabetta?” asked Ruth, more eagerly. “Couldn’t you ‘tend counter in a candy store like June Wildwood? Or maybe we could get you a chance in the Five and Ten Cent Store. Oh! as soon as Mr. Howbridge gets home, I am sure he can help us.”

“We’re not a-goin’ to stay,” interrupted Barnabetta, still bitterly antagonistic to every suggestion of the Corner House girl. “Come on, Pop.”

“Aw, Barney! Listen to reason,” begged the clown.

“We haven’t got a right to,” gasped Barnabetta. “I tell you these girls will want to put us in jail.”

“What for?” demanded Ruth, wonderingly.

“Well me in jail, then. Pop hasn’t done anything.”’

“But, for pity’s sake, what for?”

“If you knew what I was—what I did—”

“What did you do, Barnabetta?” queried Ruth, with some excitement.

“I—I stole that old book you’re huntin’ for. It was me took it out of Neale Sorber’s bag. That’s what!”

The confession burst from Barnabetta wildly.

“I knew there was money in it. I saw it when he was up to the winter quarters of the circus at Tiverton. That other girl knew I saw it. Hasn’t she told you?”

“Who—Aggie?” asked the amazed Ruth.

“Yes. She knows what I am—a thief!”

“No! Oh, no, Barnabetta! Don’t call yourself that. And Agnes never said a word to me against you. Agnes likes you.”

“I don’t see how she can. She knew I wanted to steal the book. She must have guessed I got it out of Neale’s bag Saturday night. And I guess now she knows what I did with it.”

“Oh, Barnabetta! What did you do with it?” cried Ruth, forgetting everything else but the sudden hope that the album might be recovered.

“I put it in the bottom of that closet downstairs in the dinin’ room,” confessed Barnabetta, bursting into tears. “And your auntie locked the door and I couldn’t get at it again. And now she can’t unlock it.

“I—I was hopin’ I could get the book and give it back to you—leave it somewhere where you’d be sure to see it. I was ashamed of what I’d done. I wouldn’t touch a dollar of that money in it—not now, after you’d been so awful nice to me and Pop. And—and—”

But here Ruth put both arms around her and stopped her lips with a kiss.

“Oh, Barnabetta! Don’t say another word!” she cried. “You have made me the happiest girl in all the world to-day!”

Barnabetta stared at her, open-mouthed and wide-eyed.

“What’s that you’re sayin’, Miss Ruth?” asked the clown.

“Why, don’t you see?” cried Ruth, laughing and sobbing together. “I thought the book was really lost—that we’d never recover it. And I’ve just discovered that all that money and those bonds in it belong to our dear friend, Mrs. Eland, and her sister, who is in the hospital. Oh! and they need the money so badly!

“Just think! it is a fortune. There’s fifty thousand dollars in money besides the bonds. And I took one of the notes to the bank and found out for sure that the money is good.

“Oh, dear me!” cried Ruth, in conclusion, sobbing and laughing together until she hiccoughed. “Oh, dear me! I never was so delighted by anything in my life—not even when we came here to live at the old Corner House!”

“But—but—isn’t the money yours, Ruth?” asked Barnabetta. “Doesn’t it belong to you Corner House girls?”

“Oh, no. It was money left by Mr. Lemuel Aden when he died. I am sure of that. And Mrs. Eland and Miss Pepperill are his nieces.”

“Then it doesn’t mean anything to you if the money is found?” gasped the circus girl.

“Of course it means something to me—to us all. Of course it does, Barnabetta. I never can thank you enough for telling me—”

“But I stole it first and put it there,” said Barnabetta.

“Never mind! Don’t worry about that. Let us run down and get the book out of the closet. And don’t dare leave this house, either of you!” she commanded, running down the back stairs.

Barnabetta helped her father back to his room. Then she went down the front flight and met the excited Ruth and the quite amazed Agnes in the dining room. Ruth had the heavy kitchen poker.

“What under the sun are you going to do with that poker, Ruth Kenway?” demanded Agnes.

“Oh, Aggie! Think of it! That old album is locked in that closet.”

“Well! didn’t I just begin to believe so myself?” ejaculated the second Corner House girl.

Ruth waited for no further explanation. She pressed the heavy poker into the aperture between the lock of the door and the striker, pushing as hard as she could, and then used the strong poker as a prize. The door creaked.

“You’ll break it!” gasped Agnes.

“That’s what I mean to do. We can’t unlock it,” said Ruth, with determination.

The next moment, with a splintering of wood, the lock gave and the door swung open. Ruth flung down the poker and dived into the bottom of the closet.

Up she came with her prize. Unmistakably it was the album Agnes had found in the garret.

“Hurrah!” shouted Agnes. “Oh, dear! I’m so glad—”

But Ruth uttered a cry of despair. She had brought the old volume to the table and opened it. The yellowed and paste-stained pages were bare!

Swiftly she fluttered the leaves from the front to the back cover. Not a bond, not a banknote, was left in the book. Everything of value had been removed, and the girls, horror-stricken, realized that the treasure was as far from their custody as ever.