Pamela crossed the room and looked over a barricade of lumber. At first sight it seemed that a heavy oak dower chest, topped by a pile of boxes, was set against the wall. It was not. Between its bulk and the wall of the attic there existed a narrow space--so narrow that it would not appear possible as a retiring place even for the smallest boy. Pamela looked over--as has been stated--and dropped a small paper bag. "I brought you some chocolates," she said. "Thanks," murmured Hughie in a slow drawl. Squeezed between the chest and the wall he was absorbed in most intricate stitchery. On his knee was set a cardboard box full of bits and scraps--both white and coloured--wee spars, small lengths of catgut, bits of fine wire. Also, sitting very upright, two neatly smiling dolls, with bran-stuffed bodies and china heads, dolls about three inches long--the large kind held no attractions for Hughie. "How are you getting on, Midget?" asked Pamela with sympathy. "It’s rather trying," said the dressmaker, "their arm-sleeves fray out of the holes, and the button-holes are simply fearful. But they must have the things." "They’ll look jolly nice when they are finished," said Pamela, "can’t I help you?" Hughie rejected help. "I’ve made a white ensign for the new boat," he said, nodding towards the tiny flag that lay finished on the box-top. "Ripping!" exclaimed Pamela, picking up the bit of work. It was most beautifully made. Seeing her undoubted admiration Hughie fished out of his coloured heap a fine cord to which were attached a succession of wonderful little flags and burgees in many colours and designs. "Signal halyards," he said, "it took me weeks--and months. It’s the whole code." "Hughie, you are rather surprising," said Pamela, as she examined the extraordinary result of skill and patience. Then she pushed the boxes a little to one side and seated herself on the corner of the oak chest. "I rather wanted to tell you something," she began. "I know," said Hughie, adding as she paused in surprise, "is it about the pig-tail girl?" Pamela told him what had happened, and what Christobel had asked her. Hughie made no comment. "I wish they hadn’t gone to Fuchsia Cottage and asked Miss Anne about it," went on Pamela thoughtfully, "the more people who are dragged into it, the more bother it will be to----" "To what?" inquired Hughie, without looking up. "Well, I was going to say--to find out. Then I remembered that probably there isn’t anything to find out. I mean, if there is a girl she is probably a relation of Mrs. Trewby’s." "I suppose you think she lives at Woodrising?" suggested Hughie cautiously. "Crow said she disappeared just outside that wall--when a cloud made it dark. _They_ thought she’d run on into Fuchsia Cottage gate--you see." "I know. It was the other gate more likely," said Hughie in a deliberate manner.