"It was behind the trunk, partly under the cat's black paw. I smelled it when I leaned over, and I thought we might as well have a look at it." said The Author. And on the following page is what The Author had found. '"Shades of E.A. Poe, and Robert Louis the Beloved! What have we here?" cried The Author, joyously, and stood on one leg like a stork. "Was there a Hynds woman named Helen? 'Turn Hellen's Key three tens and three?' Some keyhole! I say, Miss Smith, let me keep this for a while, will you?" "Do, Sophy, let him keep it!" pleaded Alicia. {~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~} { _Turne Hellens Keye_ } { _Three Tennes & Three_ } { _Ye Watcher in ye Darke Thoult See_ } { } { (*B*) } { } { . . . . . } { . . . . . } { . . . . . } { . . . . . } { . . . . . } { . . . . . } { . . . . . } { . . . . . } { . . . . . } { . . . . . } { . . . . . } { . . . . . } { . . . . . } { } { _As Neede Shall Rise_ } { _So Mote It Bee_ } { } '~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~' "I'll take the best care of it, Miss Smith; indeed I will!" The Author promised. "Look here: I'll lock it in the clothes-closet, in the breast pocket of my coat." As he spoke, he opened the cedar-lined closet, that was almost as big as a modern hall bedroom, and put the paper in the breast pocket of his coat. Locking the door, he placed the key under his pillow, and beside it a new and businesslike Colt automatic. "There!" said The Author, confidently. "Nobody can get into that closet without first tackling _me_. Now you girls go to bed. To-morrow we'll tackle the unraveling." And we, remembering of a sudden that we were pig-tailed and kimonoed, and that The Author himself resembled a step-ladder with a shawl draped around it, departed hurriedly.