"Look here, Cyril," she said, sticking on her hat with long sharp violet-headed pins, "I leave you in charge. Stay in the dressing-room. You can pretend to be swimming boats in the bath, or something. Say I gave you leave. But stay there, with the door on the landing open; I've locked the other. And don't let anyone go into my room. Remember, no one knows the jewels are there except me, and all of you, and the wicked thieves who put them there. Robert, you stay in the garden and watch the windows. If anyone tries to get in you must run and tell the two farm men that I'll send up to wait in the kitchen. I'll tell them there are dangerous characters about--that's true enough. Now remember, I trust you both. But I don't think they'll try it till after dark, so you're quite safe. Good-bye, darlings." And she locked her bedroom door and went off with the key in her pocket. The children could not help admiring the dashing and decided way in which she had acted. They thought how useful she would have been in organising escape from some of the tight places in which they had found themselves of late in consequence of their ill-timed wishes. "She's a born general," said Cyril,--"but _I_ don't know what's going to happen to us. Even if the girls were to hunt for that old Sammyadd and find it, and get it to take the jewels away again, mother would only think we hadn't looked out properly and let the burglars sneak in and get them--or else the police will think _we've_ got them--or else that she's been fooling them. Oh, it's a pretty decent average ghastly mess this time, and no mistake!" He savagely made a paper boat and began to float it in the bath, as he had been told to do. Robert went into the garden and sat down on the worn yellow grass, with his miserable head between his helpless hands. Anthea and Jane whispered together in the passage downstairs, where the cocoanut matting was--with the hole in it that you always caught your foot in if you were not careful. Martha's voice could be heard in the kitchen,--grumbling loud and long. "It's simply quite too dreadfully awful," said Anthea. "How do you know all the diamonds are there, too? If they aren't, the police will think mother and father have got them, and that they've only given up some of them for a kind of desperate blind. And they'll be put in prison, and we shall be branded outcasts, the children of felons. And it won't be at all nice for father and mother either," she added, by a candid after-thought. "But what can we _do_?" asked Jane. "Nothing--at least we might look for the Psammead again. It's a very, _very_ hot day. He may have come out to warm that whisker of his." "He won't give us any more beastly wishes to-day," said Jane flatly. "He gets crosser and crosser every time we see him. I believe he hates having to give wishes." Anthea had been shaking her head gloomily--now she stopped shaking it so suddenly that it really looked as though she were pricking up her ears.