However, Miss Howard made an exception of Gincy, who seemed a link between herself and the mountain people. Besides Gincy’s position as monitor demanded greater confidence. “Whoever it was, knew I was there,” she concluded. “They were after the key, they didn’t care who was in there,” said Gincy grimly. “Hit ain’t likely they’ll come again very soon, though, after this.” But the very next evening Number 16 was again invaded. This time Lalla’s little silver pin was missing, and her school books hidden in the woodbox. “Shall we search Mallie’s and Nancy Jane’s room?” asked Miss Howard as Lalla stood before her after making her final complaint. “This matter is growing serious.” Lalla hesitated. “You wouldn’t be likely to find anything. They’re both too smart for that. We might watch them a spell longer.” “Besides,” continued Miss Howard, “Mallie and Nancy Jane are nearly always busy when things happen in your room.” Lalla shook her head as though unconvinced. “I reckon hit’s jest one person. I ain’t sayin’ who.” “Lalla,” interrogated Gincy shrewdly, “who do you reckon’s so plumb foolish as to sneak into your room whenever you go out for dinner?” “Mebbe you can tell me,” answered Lalla with a flash of temper. “I’m goin’ home next week if hit keeps on.” “Wait a while,” encouraged Gincy, ignoring the insinuation. Personally, she was not fond of Lalla, whose keen wit never spared any one, but of all the mountain pupils she was the most talented—so the teachers had said—and Gincy was working for the good of the school. “I’ve got hit to work out and I’m goin’ to do hit,” she said to herself that night. “I reckon Lalla’s plumb out of patience or she wouldn’t be so touchy.” She took a firmer grip on the baffling mental problem, her detective instinct now fully aroused. Things happened at dinner time. Mallie and Nancy Jane were nearly always at meals—and yet—Gincy thought over every other girl in the Hall; not one seemed to have either the disposition or the ability to carry on, undetected, such a warfare. At six o’clock that evening, she was behind the door of Number 16, the new master key showing temptingly in the lock. She had figured it all out; the room must be watched from the inside. This time both window and door were to be reckoned with. She raised the former to further her scheme, and told no one except Miss Howard, who promised to bring Gincy’s dinner to her own room that she might eat it later. It was a weary vigil, but Gincy worked out some problems and waited patiently. The hour was almost gone when a slight tap came at the door. She crowded behind a dress in the corner and listened eagerly. The door swung slightly and Nancy Jane Ping looked in. Her small, inquisitive eyes seemed to pierce every corner, and Gincy had a breathless moment of expectancy. Kizzie’s yellow muslin was a feeble barrier for the gimlet glances to penetrate.