Rodney did so. He now knew what Tim meant. The roll of bills and even the interior of the wallet that contained them were a mass of wet rags, almost reduced to a pulp. The new, crisp bills were matted together and discolored so much that he looked alarmed. “Same way with mine,” said Tim. “We’ll have to separate and dry them.” “You do it. I’m sleepy.” “No; you must do your share,” retorted Tim. They soon had the broad stone in front of the fireplace covered with the water-soaked bank notes. “Hello! these papers are pretty nearly done for,” said Tim, as he drew a large envelope containing documents from his pocket. “What’s that, Tim?” asked Rodney curiously. “Some papers I took from young Ellison on board the _Spray_.” “What are they?” “Oh, something about the Ellison murder. They’re no good.” “Hold on.” Tim had made a motion as if to throw them in the fire. “What’s the trouble?” “Don’t destroy them.” “Why not?” “They may be important.” “They’d prove we were thieves if they found them on us.” “Well, dry them with the rest, and I’ll see what they are in the morning.” “Just as you say,” and Tim spread the papers out to dry alongside of the bank notes. It was a curious picture that the interior of the rude cabin presented half an hour later. A fortune lay on the hearth, and near it slumbered the stupefied boys. The scene had an outside spectator, although the boys little suspected it. At the window, just as they began talking about the bank notes and the papers, and spreading them out to dry, a strange, weird face had appeared. A wild pair of eyes gleamed in at the scene, and the same eyes peered in at the door as it was stealthily lifted out of place half an hour later. At the door appeared a strange figure. It was that of a woman, old, haggard, with bedraggled attire, and face and eyes that seemed to indicate that she was some homeless wanderer, bereft of her reason, and accidentally strayed here. For all that, there seemed to be a purpose in her visit. She moved about stealthily, and her gleaming glance was fixed on the papers and bank notes on the hearth. Chuckling, muttering, she gathered up the last one of them, thrust them into a bundle under her shawl, and then stole toward the door again. Halfway to it she paused. An elfish, crooning laugh escaped her lips. She drew a bottle filled with blood-red liquid from beneath her shawl, dipped her finger in it, and then deliberately marked an X on the forehead of each of the sleeping boys. “Blood!” she muttered. “I’ll mark them, too, for they spoke that name, Ellison. Money and papers! ho! ho! Crazy Meg will go to the bad man with the knife who scared her so, ho! ho!” Then the woman disappeared as silently as she had come to the cabin. It was broad daylight when Rodney Darringford awoke. He gazed around stupidly. The door was out of place, and the fire was out. He looked startled as he glanced at the hearth, and recalled the night previous.