All that long summer's day Cuthbert prowled up and down the dell, searching for some trace, however slight, which should give him the clue, and searching in vain. The only path where the undergrowth was in any way trodden was the one by which he and Robin alike approached the well, the old, half-obliterated track that once had been so freely used. All around the sides of the dell, fern and bramble, hazel and undergrowth of all kinds, grew in wild confusion. Search as he would, Cuthbert could find nothing like a path of any kind. Did Robin indeed trust to that tangled undergrowth to keep his secret hid? And if so, what chance was there of its being found unless the whole dell was dug up? A short while back it seemed so much to have found out this dell. When he had been resolved to search the whole forest through, no wonder the task had been practically impossible; but when he had had indications of a confined locality, he had looked upon his work as well-nigh accomplished, and had come here with a heart full of high hopes. And now he was confronted by difficulties that appeared almost as insurmountable as before; for he plainly saw the hopelessness of attempting single-handed to delve the whole dell over. Robin would return before the task was more than begun. He would guess the import, would set a close watch, and would slay the bold invader of his haunted dell without pity or remorse. Whilst the only other plan, that of bringing a gang of men to work strong enough to be a guard to themselves, was simply out of the question for Cuthbert. He had no money himself. His uncle Martin would certainly not give him the gold in the box for any such hare-brained scheme; whilst to appeal to Sir Richard, with nothing to back his statements but what would be looked upon as old wives' fables and gipsy delusions, would only be to provoke ridicule and scorn. The Trevlyns had long given up the treasure as lost beyond recall. They had no sort of hope of recovering it, and the present owner of the Chase and his lady were in particular very greatly averse to any sort of dealings with occult magic and gipsy lore. Cuthbert had a shrewd notion that there was little enough of magic in any of the words and dark sayings he had heard. He had been let just a very little behind the scenes, and had his own opinions on the subject. His faith in spirits and familiars had been greatly shaken; but he knew that his story would sound wild and improbable, and he was by no means sure that even Joanna would consent to appear before Sir Richard and repeat it all to him. She was anxious to do her part towards making restitution; but, having put the clue in Cuthbert's hands, would very likely consider that part done, and decline to be questioned further by any one.