It would be useless to attempt describing the mingled sensations with which the Antiquarian Club (all but Alexander) bent to examine the latest "find." The twins, however, drew back in a moment with a disappointed air and the disgusted query:

"Is that all! What in the world is it?"

It certainly was neither gold nor jewels, nor, apparently, important papers of any sort, and their interest waned at once. It was paper of some kind—dirty, mildewed, stained with time, and nibbled freely by mice. But it bore no resemblance to the state documents, laden perhaps with impressive seals, that the twins had vaguely expected to behold, if, indeed, the find took that shape at all. But Margaret and Corinne had been turning it over carefully. All of a sudden they uttered a simultaneous little cry:

"Oh, girls! Don't you know what it is?"

"No!" declared the twins.

"Why—the other half of the diary!"

Then indeed did the twins give way to belated exultation in which Alexander joined, for of course he had already discovered this.

"Yes, it certainly is!" reasserted Corinne, examining it more closely. "The book was evidently torn in two, and this half concealed in the beam,—but for what earthly reason I can't imagine! I wonder if Alison put it there herself?"

"D'ye see anything queer about the first page?" inquired Alexander, mysteriously. They bent again to examine it. The first page was the most worn and stained and torn and least decipherable of all, because it had been unprotected. There were the same characters of the cipher, only very dimly discernible. But written diagonally across it, evidently with something black and dull, possibly a piece of charcoal or charred wood, were a few words in English. They were so faint that they might have been taken merely for the traces of dark stains or smudges had not one examined them closely.

"Shall I put you wise to what they say?" suggested Alexander.

"Oh, do!" they all cried.

"Well, here it is: 'I am now assured you are a spy. This proves it. I can make naught of it, but will hide it securely. Later I will denounce you.' Wouldn't that jar you, now!"

"Who do you suppose wrote it?" demanded Corinne.

"Could it have been Alison?" suggested Margaret. "Maybe she meant it about the steward."

"That's my guess!" echoed Alexander.

"But why did she write it in English, and with this charcoal or whatever it is? And why did she hide it in that beam? And why was the diary torn in two?"

"You can search me!" Alexander remarked, shrugging his shoulders.

"Wouldn't it be a good idea to find out by translating the rest?" quietly suggested Bess, the practical. "No doubt she'll say something in it that will put us on the right track."

"Good business!" chuckled Alexander. "You've got some sense in that bean of yours, kid!"

"I don't understand you!" retorted Bess, coldly. She thoroughly disapproved of his slang, and was never amused by it as the rest often were.

"I should worry!" he responded unconcernedly, and turned to Margaret. "Couldn't you dope out a bit of it now, kiddie? You've got the goods to do it with."

"No," interrupted Corinne, looking at her watch; "it's getting late, and I must go. Let's give Margaret a couple of days to work it out, and then we'll have a grand old meeting and solve the whole riddle—I hope!"

Much as they longed to know the whole story at once, it was obvious that Corinne's suggestion was most sensible. But before they separated, they unanimously voted "Aye!" to another matter—that the discovery of the contents of the secret beam was the most satisfactory thing that had happened so far!

Two days later they gathered around Margaret, keen for the exciting revelations that they felt sure were awaiting them. Margaret had resumed her sphinxlike attitude of mystery and would reveal no clue to what she had discovered. When they were settled and quiet, Alexander remarked:

"Go ahead, kid! Shoot! Get it off your mind!" And smiling indulgently on him, Margaret began:

"You remember where we left off in the other half of the journal—a sentence just stopped in the middle. It was this:—'For Madame M. will accept naught from him and—' Now, on this first page, she completes it. And, by the way, I had the worst time puzzling out that first page! It was so stained and faded and torn. Sometimes I wasn't even sure I was getting it right. But I guess now I have it correct. She goes on to finish:

"—yet I scarce could tell him so. He must have guessed my predicament, for he only smiled and said it was of no moment. An she would not care for it, I might keep it for myself. 'Twas rarely kind in him. I long to tell him about myself, but I dare not—not yet.

"Then comes a break. Now she says:

"His lady did pass me to-day, walking in the garden; and since the high shrubbery screened us, I curtesied deeply to her. I scarce dare notice her when any of the household are by. She looked at me long, then spoke me fair, asking had she not met me before she came here. I answered, yes, the day her coach broke down on the road last year, and I helped to hold the frightened horses while 'twas mended. She did thank me anew, and asked me what it was I was about to tell her then, when Madame M. had dragged me suddenly away. I replied that I dared not repeat it there, but would seek some chance to speak with her alone when we did have more time and were not observed. Then I heard footsteps approaching, and I fled quickly away."

"Wonder what it could have been that she was trying so hard to tell Lady Washington!" sighed Corinne. "This doesn't grow any less mysterious, apparently! Go on, Margaret!"

"Another break, then she says:

"I have at last learned what is this wicked plot—"

"Good business!" ejaculated Alexander.

"'Tis through Mistress Phoebe I found it out. She has a lover who is one of his life-guard, and this lover she has had cause to suspect is not entirely loyal to him. Last night she did ply him with overmuch good malt brew, and in his befogged state she did get him to babble the secret. Oh, it is a vile scheme! They are planning to deliver the city out of his hands. But that is not the worst. They seek first of all to murder him, and in some underhand, cowardly fashion. The manner of it is not decided yet. Phoebe tells me her lover will remember no word of what he said to her last night in his cups. But she intends to watch him right closely. When she has learned the manner of the plotted murder, he must be warned."

"Isn't this exciting!" exclaimed Corinne.

"Bully! Hot stuff!" agreed Alexander.

Margaret continued: "Now, another entry.

"I have confided my story to Phoebe. She is well to be trusted, I feel. She has promised to help me in my need. I am becoming right fond of Phoebe. Corbie was here last night to see the steward. They are both in the plot, we feel sure. After Corbie left, the steward descended to the cellar. I did not dare to follow—I could only guess that he went to his secret hiding-place.

"Now another space. Then:

"Phoebe had news to-day. Last night she did again muddle her lover with much strong drink. And she did get him to confess that the plot is near completion; that if all goes well, 'twill be put in action four days from now. He also did acknowledge that they intended to put him out of the way by poisoning something he ate. But he knew nothing more definite. Phoebe says she dares not thus befuddle him again. It is too dangerous, as he has shown that he suspects he is babbling and has asked her since many searching questions, to which she pretends guileless ignorance. We must watch him. What if we should not be able to foil him and his vile conspirators!

"Madame M.'s health does not improve. Nay, she has dropped so low that 'tis feared she will not live. Her physician did bleed her yesterday, but 'twas of no avail. She recognizes me, but she will have naught to say to me. In fact she is too weak to utter a word. I am right sorry for her and grieve that she cannot forgive me, though I have done no real wrong. I have sometimes thought she must know of the plot, the vile plot that is to be enacted in this house. But Phoebe declares she is innocent of that. Deep as her hatred may be, she would never wink at such a crime."

"Well, that settles one question, anyhow!" interrupted Corinne. "Do you remember how we discussed that?"

"Yep! that was the day I butted in!" commented Alexander, in whimsical recollection. "Fire away, kid!"

Margaret continued:

"Phoebe and I do despair of discovering by what means they plan to carry out the plot. She dares no longer question her lover when he is under the influence of wine. Nor does she yet dare denounce him, lest the other conspirators escape unharmed. It would be premature to do so till we know the exact facts. I have told her of the steward and his secret hiding-place in the wine-cellar. If we can do naught else, we will rifle that some time when he is away. Perchance there may be information in it.

"Then, here's the next entry:

"It is midnight, and on the morrow the plot will be consummated. I write this in much fear. Perchance it will be the last I shall ever have opportunity to write. If such be the case, and my relations in Bermuda do ever find this trunk and the diary in its false bottom, and should they be able to decipher it, I want them to know that I, Alison Trenham,—"

"Trenham!" shouted the listening group. "Hurrah! at last we know her full name! That's dandy!" Margaret gave them little heed and went on:

"—do grievously repent my folly in ever leaving my peaceful home; that I beg Grandfather to forgive me if he can, and wish Aunt and Betty to know that I love them always. Also, that H. and his uncle were little to blame for their part in what happened before we left Bermuda, and that I do not regret giving my assistance, for it was a noble cause, even though our government did not approve.

"To-night, Phoebe and I did raid the steward's secret hiding-place. We waited till he had gone out, about ten o'clock, and from his actions we made sure that he would be away long, for he went straight to Corbie's tavern. But even so, we took a terrible risk. Once in the cellar, our work was not difficult. I pointed out the location of the spot, and we opened the beam as I had seen him do. But our amazement was great when we found naught in it. He must have removed every belonging, and that right recently. We were just about to turn away when Phoebe declared she would look once more, and she felt all about in it carefully. Her search was rewarded, for far back in a crevice was stuck a small folded note.

"We read it by the light of the candle, not at first daring to take it away. It was from the governor, and said that on the morrow a dose of poison should be put into a dish of peas prepared for him at his noonday meal. The poison would have no effect under an hour. In the meantime, word should go forth, and the fortifications would be seized. Everything was in readiness. That was all. The note had plainly been forgotten by the steward when he removed his other papers. We dared to keep it, on a second thought, since he would probably think he had lost it elsewhere, if he missed it at all. So we took it away with us.

"Our plans are all laid. Phoebe will herself be in the kitchen to-morrow at noon, and no doubt either her lover or the steward will place the poison in the dish. Then I am to pass through the kitchen at a certain moment, and Phoebe will request me to carry in the dish and lay it before him. As I do so, I can whisper him a warning not to eat of it, saying I will explain later. If Phoebe herself did this, she would be suspected at once, for she never goes into the dining-room to serve. But she will choose a moment when no retainer of his happens to be in the kitchen, and send me with it instead. God grant that the plans do not go wrong. He will suffer, and our own lives will be in great danger should we fail or be discovered.

"We have arranged that, when I go to him later to disclose what we know, I shall also tell him my own story and throw myself on the protection of him and his good lady. For I fear it will then be no longer safe for me to remain here as I am now. That is all. God has us in His hands. I await the morrow with untold trembling.

"Should it be thought strange that in writing this journal I have given few names and so made the identities hard to guess, I must explain that I have ever been in great fear of this being discovered—nay, even deciphered. I bethought me that the fewer names I used, the less incriminating this might be to myself and all concerned. As I read it over now, I feel that it was but a poor makeshift, at best. However that may be, I trust that it may some day get back to my dear ones in Bermuda, should aught evil befall me. They will understand.

"The hour grows late and I must retire, though I feel little able to sleep. But one thing more I must disclose ere I bring this journal to an end,—the hiding-place of the sapphire signet. Should it befall that I never return to my home nor see my relatives again, it would be only right that they be informed where the jewel may be found, and that I meant no evil in taking it from Grandfather. Also, I do earnestly beseech any soul who shall perchance sometime long in the future find and decipher this record, that he or she will search for the signet in the place that I have indicated. And should they find it still there hidden, I pray that they will make an effort to return it to any of my family or connections who may still exist.

"I have concealed the sapphire signet in—"

Margaret came to a dead stop. "Girls—and Alexander—that's absolutely all there is!"

So tense had been the interest that they could not believe their ears when Margaret made this announcement. Alexander was the first to recover his power of speech. Thumping the floor indignantly, he delivered himself thus:

"Suffering cats! Can you beat it!"