The Pixie went up with the bag of tools on his shoulder, followed closely by Wendell, and found a neat tiled bathroom. He unrolled his tools, selected a monkey-wrench and went to work on the bath-tub pipes. The two women had remained downstairs. “Well, you’re here,” said the Pixie in a low tone. “What would you do next?” whispered Wendell. “Look about a bit,” rejoined the Pixie. “I’ll keep my ear cocked.” Wendell tiptoed carefully into the hall and peeked into the front bedroom. He tried a closet door, found it unlocked, opened it and peered in at the usual collection of clothes hanging in closets. There was nothing that looked like a magic cloak. He tiptoed into the next bedroom and was investigating the contents of the closet there, when he heard a sudden exclamation from the Pixie in the bathroom. He went in hastily, asking, “Have you found anything?” The Pixie had entirely disconnected the bath-tub and disjointed the pipes, which lay strewn over the white-tiled floor. He was hastily rolling up his bundle of tools. “I’m off,” he said. “If the lady asks, tell her I’ve gone for my tools.” “When are you coming back?” asked Wendell. “Not at all,” said the Pixie, blithely but hurriedly. “But aren’t you going to put the plumbing together again?” asked Wendell in dismay. “They can’t ever do it.” “I guess they can do it as well as I can,” returned the Pixie. “I never took even a correspondence course in plumbing. So long.” “But what about me?” protested Wendell. “Well, here you are,” said the Pixie impatiently. “You said if I once got you in here, you’d be all right. I’ve got to be on the way.” “Yes, but don’t you think the Giant may come?” “I do, indeed,” said the Pixie, who was now at the top of the stairs. “In fact, I saw him only a moment ago coming down the street.” With these words, he hurried down, opened and closed the front door, swiftly but cautiously, and before Wendell had recovered from the shock, there rose the purr of the motor, and the car was off. Its sound had hardly died away, when there came a heavy tread on the piazza that shook the house, the door was violently thrown open, and a huge voice roared, “_Fee, fi, fo, fum!_ _I smell the blood of--_” The roar stopped short. Wendell heard the Stepmother’s voice. “I wish you’d learn to control that fee, fi, fo, fum business!” she scolded. “You scared the cook so badly with it this morning that she gave notice, and here I’ve had to cook the dinner. It may have been all right back in Cornwall several hundred years ago, but it doesn’t go here.” “Well, I’m sure,” said the Giant, “I didn’t mean anything. I _do_ smell the blood of some one.” “It’s that plumber upstairs,” she said. “Come in and eat your dinner.” “Plumber?” said the Giant, and followed her into the dining-room. They shut the door, but the Giant’s roar was so loud that Wendell could still hear his part of the conversation, like one end of a telephone talk. “Where is the leak?”