“Let’s choose the big rock just back of the Retreat, behind the pines. No one goes there very often, and we can have it for our meeting-place. Read on. It’s five minutes to three now.” Virginia drew a less rumpled paper from her blouse pocket and read: “We, the undersigned, on this 10th day of May, do hereby announce that we are the sole members of the Order of Vigilantes, a secret order founded on the 20th day of January last by Priscilla Alden Winthrop and Virginia Webster Hunter. We take our name from the Vigilantes of the West—those brave men, who in the early days of our Western States, bound themselves together in the endeavor to stand for fair play, and to preserve law and order. Like them, we hereby determine and promise to stand at all times for fair play and true friendship; and to help one another in every way we can to live up to the principles of our order. As stated above, we are the only real Vigilantes, though the existence of the order is known to Mary Williams, who is our adviser, when we need assistance.” “Now, we’ll sign our names, Priscilla, and I’ll take my fountain pen so that they can sign on the rock. Come on. It’s after three now.” They went into the hall where they met Dorothy, who had agreed to keep the mysterious appointment with them at three o’clock, and together they went to get Vivian. But no response came to their knocking. “That’s queer. She can’t be asleep. She said she’d be ready.” They knocked again—louder this time. Still there was no answer. Then they tried the door, and to their surprise found it locked. “Why, where can she be? You don’t suppose she’s sick or something, do you?” asked Priscilla. “She wouldn’t lock the door if she went out. Let’s go around the porch and look in the windows.” They went into their room, and through the French windows on to the porch, Dorothy following. When they reached Vivian’s room, they found the curtains lowered, though the windows were not locked. By dint of a good deal of prying, they raised the screens, windows and curtains, and stepped into the room. Then they stood and stared at one another in amazement. Vivian’s trunk stood, packed, tagged, and locked in the middle of the floor; her pictures, posters, pennants, and other wall decorations had disappeared, as had the toilet articles from the dresser; only the pillow-laden couch stood as before, though its afghan and pillows bore tags, on each of which was written, “For any one who wants it.” “Why, why, she’s gone!” gasped Virginia, the first to speak. “Oh, we must stop her! What shall we do? Somebody think—quick!” But in their sudden and complete surprise, thinking quickly was an utter impossibility. They probably would have remained staring at one another while precious time was hastening on, had not Priscilla’s eyes, roving distractedly about the dismantled room, fallen upon an envelope on the top of the closed and locked desk.