With shaking knees and blank dismay on their faces, they crept out of Curlew’s Nest and fastened the door. Then they hurried down to the water’s edge and sat on a rise of sand to talk it over.

“What can it all mean, Phyllis?” quavered Leslie.

“It means that some one has been in there again since day before yesterday,” declared her companion, “though it’s been bright moonlight for the past two nights, and how they got in without being seen, I can’t quite understand! You said you kept some sort of watch, didn’t you?”

“I certainly did. I haven’t gone to bed till late, and every once in a while during the night, I’ve waked up and looked over there. It doesn’t seem possible they would dare to come with the moonlight bright as day, all night long. Of course, that side door is on the opposite side from us, and the only way I could tell would be by seeing a light through the cracks of the shutter. Perhaps if they hadn’t had a very bright light, I wouldn’t know.”

“But what did they come for?” questioned Phyllis.

“Why, that’s simple. They came back to get the beads and the knife-blade. Probably it was the ‘mysterious she,’ and she came to get those things because she realized they’d been left there and might be discovered by some one else. What else could it be?”

“Of course you must be right,” agreed Phyllis. “But it’s the queerest thing I ever heard of! Anyway, there’s one thing the lady doesn’t know—that we have still one of the beads! I wonder how she’d feel if she did realize it?”

“Do you ever wonder what that mysterious lady is like?” asked Leslie. “I often try to picture her—from the very, very little we know about her. I think she is tall and dark and slender, and very, very stylishly dressed. She has rather sad brown eyes and is quite foreign-looking and would be very interesting to know.”

“Well, I don’t imagine her that way at all,” replied Phyllis. “To me it seems as if she must be large and imposing, with light hair and blue eyes and very quick, vivacious manners. I agree that she is no doubt dressed in a very up-to-date style, and is probably about thirty-five or forty years old. I don’t know whether I’d like to know her or not, but I would like to know what she’s after in that bungalow!”

So they continued to conjecture and imagine till Phyllis finally exclaimed: “Why, there are Father and Ted back already! Fishing must have been poor this morning. Thank goodness we got out of that place when we did! But that reminds me, I ought to go to the village and order some supplies. The grocer doesn’t come here again for two days. Don’t you want to walk down with me? It’s a gorgeous morning for a ‘hike’!”

“I believe I will,” agreed Leslie, “that is, if Aunt Marcia can get along without me. I haven’t had a good walk in so long that I fairly ache for one. I’ll go and see if Aunt Marcia would like me to get her anything, and I’ll meet you in five minutes.”

It was indeed a glorious morning for a walk. The crisp October air was as clear as crystal and the salt meadows back of the dunes were still gay with goldenrod and the deeper autumn colorings. The creek that wound through them was a ribbon of intense blue, and a thousand marsh-birds twittered and darted and swooped over its surface. But the two girls were, for once, almost blind to the beauty of it all, so absorbed were they in the never-failing topic of their mystery. And the village was reached almost before they realized they were in its vicinity.

Phyllis did her shopping first, in the general grocery store. Then Leslie suggested that they visit the little fancy-goods store and look up some wool for Miss Marcia’s knitting. It was a very tiny little store, kept by a tiny, rather sleepy old lady, who took a long time to find the articles her customers required. It seemed as if she would never, never locate the box with the right shade of wool in it!

While they were waiting, not altogether patiently, a handsome automobile drew up in front of the store. Its only occupant was a young girl scarcely older than Leslie and Phyllis, and by the ease with which she handled the car, it was plain to be seen that she was an accomplished driver. In another moment she had entered the store and was standing beside the two girls, waiting to be served.

She was short and slender in build, with a pink-and-white complexion, of marvelous clearness, and fluffy, red-brown hair. Under the heavy coat which she had unbuttoned on entering the store could be seen a stylish suit of English tweeds, very tailor-made and up-to-date, and a smart tam crowned her red-brown hair.

After the pleasant manner of the villagers and accustomed summer people, Phyllis bade her “Good morning!” But, to the astonishment of both girls, instead of replying in an equally pleasant manner, she stared at them both up and down for a moment, then turned away with only an ungracious nod. The indignant pair left her severely alone after that, except for a furtive glance or two when she was looking the other way. But when they had at last ascertained that old Mrs. Selby had, after all, no wool of the shade required, Leslie hurried Phyllis out with what seemed almost unnecessary haste.

“The little wretch!” sputtered Phyllis, once safely outside. “Did you ever see worse manners? But she’s—”

“Never mind about her manners!” whispered Leslie, excitedly. “Did you notice anything else?”

“Noticed that she was very smart looking and quite pretty—that is, I thought so at first. But after she acted that way, she seemed positively hateful!”

“No, no! I don’t mean that. Did you notice anything about her dress—her clothes?”

“Oh, do tell me what you mean!” cried Phyllis. “How you do love to mystify a person!”

“Well,” whispered Leslie, her eyes still on the door of the little store, “when she threw open her coat I just happened to glance at her dress, and noticed that it had a girdle of some dark green, crÊpe-y material, and the two ends had fringes of beads—and the beads were just like the ones in Curlew’s Nest!”

Phyllis simply stared at her, open-mouthed and incredulous. “It can’t be!” she muttered at length. “Even if the beads were like the ones you found—there are probably more persons than one who have some like them.”

“Yes, that’s true,” admitted Leslie, “but the color—and queer shape—everything!—At least, it’s something worth investigating. It’s the first real clue we’ve had.”

At that moment, the girl in question came out of the store, sprang into the car, whirled the wheel about, and was off down the street in a cloud of dust. They stood gazing after her.

“It doesn’t seem possible!” exclaimed Phyllis. “It just can’t be! And yet—tell you what! I’m just wondering whether she’s staying anywhere around here or is just a casual stranger passing through the town. Let’s go in and ask old Mrs. Selby if she knows anything about her. If she’s staying here, Mrs. Selby will positively know it. I’ll make the excuse of having forgotten to buy something. Come along!”

She hustled Leslie back into the little shop and soon had little Mrs. Selby hunting for a size and variety of shell hair-pin of which she had no need whatever, as she possessed already a plentiful supply at home. But it was the only thing she could think of at the moment. When they were being wrapped, she asked quite casually:

“Was that young girl who just went out a stranger here, Mrs. Selby, or is she stopping in the village? Seems to me I don’t recall her face.”

“Oh, she ain’t exactly a stranger,” replied Mrs. Selby with alacrity, quite waking up at the prospect of retailing a bit of gossip; “But she ain’t been around here so long—only a couple of weeks or so. She comes in here once in a while, but she ain’t very friendly like—never passes the time o’ day nor nothing,—just asks for what she wants and goes out. I never did quite take to manners like that. Nobody else here acts so—not even the summer folks. I can’t think how she was brung up! They do say as she ain’t an American,—that she’s English or something,—but I don’t know for sure. Anyhow, she don’t mix with no one—just runs around in that ottymobile all the time.”

“Where’s she stopping?” went on Phyllis. “The hotel is closed. I thought all the summer people but ourselves had gone.”

“Oh, she’s boarding up to Aunt Sally Blake’s. I dunno how she come to go there, but there she is. I wonder how Aunt Sally gets along with her?”

“Have you heard what her name is?” pursued Phyllis, as she received her parcel.

“They do say her name is Ramsay—Miss Ramsay. Good morning, young ladies, and thank you. Come in again soon.”

When they were out on the street, Leslie clutched Phyllis spasmodically and her eyes were almost popping out of her head.

“Is there the least doubt in your mind now, Phyllis Kelvin?” she demanded. “Her name is Ramsay—the very same name that was on the envelop in the book!”

And Phyllis was obliged to acknowledge herself convinced.