"No, there isn't," admitted Warriner. "All the same, it opens up some interesting possibilities." "For example?" A third person was suddenly taking part in the conversation. I turned quickly to see John Thaneford standing besides us. He was accompanied by a big collie, an ill-tempered brute, who eyed Gyp with disdainful truculence. The like adjectival description might have been applied to Thaneford himself as he stood there with his white teeth just showing through the close drawn lips, and one muscular fist, with its tufted knuckles, knotted about a blackthorn cudgel. "You were speaking, I think, of interesting possibilities," he continued, looking at each of us in turn, "Perhaps I could add something of value to the discussion." "You have already contributed Exhibit A," said Warriner, handing him the handkerchief. As he spoke, he rose to his feet, and it seemed to me that just before doing so he picked up a small object from the ground, and kept it concealed in the hollow of his hand. But the action had been so swift that I could not be sure. John Thaneford took and pocketed his handkerchief with the utmost sangfroid. "Thanks," he said carelessly. "I must have left it here by inadvertence, and nowadays even a few inches of real Irish linen is a possession not to be despised. It is certainly mine, and, moreover, it was found on Thaneford property. Under the circumstances you will hardly be justified in putting in a claim for treasure-trove." This with a sneer that fully bared his close set teeth. I was feeling rather uncomfortable, but Warriner's cool urbanity never failed him. "Glad to have obliged you," he said easily. "The next strong wind probably would have blown it down the cliff. Lovely view, isn't it?" And indeed it was a charming prospect--the silver ripples of the shallow Whippany edging the emerald meadows that stretched up to meet the shaven lawn of the "Hundred"; the massive ochre bulk of the house, with its roofs of dark gray slate; and, beyond, the copper glow from a clump of purple beeches melting insensibly into the sombre hues of pine and hemlock; in the middle distance, the golden ocean of the wheat; and still farther on, a battery of motor tractors moving snail-like but inexorably against the gallant green lances of the haying fields--"Hildebrand Hundred" in all its glory. "A _belvedere_ in quite the proper sense," commented Warriner. "I dare say you are rather fond of coming here--by way of viewing the promised land, as it were." He smiled provokingly. John Thaneford was not nimble witted, and he found no fitting rejoinder to Warriner's sarcasm. "I don't know that it is any of your damned business," he barked out, flushing redly. It was time for me to intervene, for clearly our position was not a tenable one; we were trespassers. "I am sorry to have intruded for the second time within a week," I said evenly. "Unintentional of course."