Shaking and sobbing, Joan flung herself upon the bed. "Sid writes me you're home," Kenny wrote to Garry in September. "What about the car? Come up for a while and drive it home. We can do some sketching. Brian's full of Irish melancholy and waiting for word from Whitaker. He may go any time. Joan's tired and busy with clothes. Don's cranky and I'm rather at a loose end, hunting things to do." Puzzled, Garry went. "I can't make out what's wrong," he wrote to Sid, "Kenny's rational enough, but Brian's strung to the breaking point. I suspect it's just as it always has been--they're miserable apart and hopeless together. But the year has been a sobering one, and what used to flash, they bottle up. In my opinion the sooner Brian gets away the better. He's not himself." CHAPTER XXXIX THE TENSION SNAPS Months back Fate had flung out a skein of broken threads to the wind of Chance. In mid September she chose to bring the flying ends together. It began when Hannah dropped a dipper. Hughie on his way to the wood-box with an armful of kindlings jumped and dropped them with a clatter. And he stepped on Toby's tail and swore. Hannah and Hughie and Toby, startled, shared a sharp moment of resentment. "Hughie," Hannah's impatience keyed her voice a trifle high, "'pon my honor I don't know what gets into you. Ever since you took to diggin' dots you've been as nervous as a cat. You're full of jumps. It's my opinion if the doctor hadn't told you that Mr. O'Neill himself buried the money in the fireplace, you'd be diggin' dots in a lunatic asylum!" Hughie's horrified face of warning turned her cold with foreboding. Hannah turned and gasped. Joan stood behind her. "Hannah," she asked, "what did you say?" "I--I don't know," said Hannah, scarlet with confusion. "I'm all unstrung and my head's queer--" Hughie went out and slammed the door. "You said that Mr. O'Neill--buried--the money--in Uncle's fireplace!" repeated Joan distinctly. She caught Hannah's arm, her dark frightened eyes imploring. "Hannah, did he?" Shaking, Hannah put her apron to her eyes. "Hannah, you must tell me. It is important that I know. No, don't cry. Did Mr. O'Neill bury the money--in Uncle's fireplace?" "Yes," choked Hannah in a low voice. "Oh, Hughie will never forgive me!" "How do you know?" "The doctor. Hughie went on diggin', thinking there must be more, until he was sick with nerves. The doctor had to tell him." "And how did the doctor know?" The girl's strained quiet helped Hannah to regain her self-control. "Mr. O'Neill went to Rink's hotel to telephone," she faltered, wiping her eyes, "and Sam Acker put his ear to the door. He--he telephoned for a lot of ragged money--" Joan caught her breath.