"Are you awake, Pam, now?" he inquired. "Yes, I am--now----" "Well, look here----" "Look here what? Why did you come?" Pam was still confused. "A person threw a thing into my window. It went whack on the floor--not a bump--just a teeny whack. Then I got up and found it. See----" Hughie stretched out his hand. Pamela gathered her wits together and sat up. Then she bent forward to look, and took the something from his hand. She turned it over with caution, surprised, and still befogged. "What on earth!" she murmured, and stopped. "I’ll light your candle," said Hughie. Pamela glanced up. "Get my torch, Midget, and snap it on while I look. We don’t want a candle, it might be seen outside--or inside, for that matter; we don’t need an audience." Hughie did as he was asked, and stood by her side, bringing the little bright light to bear on the parcel she held. It was very small. A longish foreign envelope, containing apparently some little heavy things of irregular size that felt like pebbles. Pamela tore it open. Certainly pebbles, little gravel ones not even washed, were in the envelope, and a folded bit of paper. Within the note were these words, written in a pointed narrow hand, not like that usual with schoolgirls. "I wish to speak with you. Come to the Clawtol wood at 8.30 to-morrow." There was no signature. Pamela read it twice, then she said in a very wideawake tone: "_Cheek!_" Hughie watched her with interest. He was not able to master handwriting yet, but his wits were keen. "Is it the other girl, Pam?" he asked. "Yes." "Who is she, then?" "Goodness knows," exclaimed Pamela, "but she’s, well--she thinks a most awful lot of herself. Whether her opinion is justified I suppose her friends know best. _I_ know nothing at all, yet." "Does she want you to do something, then?" "My dear Midget, she doesn’t ask. She coolly _orders_ me to meet her at 8.30 to-morrow--she writes ’to-morrow’ and never says whether it’s morning or evening--to begin with, that’s idiotic! And why does she throw it into your window, I’d like to know? She must be raving mad, prowling about our house at--what time is it--eleven o’clock. It simply isn’t decent." Pamela was both annoyed and startled, at the same time she was intrigued, and a tiny bit flattered. This surprising stranger, who bore a very distinguished stamp on her personality, had picked out her--Pamela--as an acquaintance, not Christobel! Well, it was odd; she read the note again, and looked at the dusty little pebbles in the envelope. "She put those in to weight the letter, of course--but why your window?" "She meant it for yours," suggested Hughie.