"I'm afraid both Mrs. Wilson and Scott are bad characters," said Lindsay in an impressive voice. "I expect they've stolen the treasure, and they're going to hide it in the garden. Perhaps even it may have something to do with the prisoner in the lantern room." "You don't think they've killed him?" gasped Cicely. "I can't tell. I believe they're capable of anything. I'm quite uneasy for fear they intend to harm Monica. We'll watch to-night, and find out what they're about. I shouldn't wonder if we're on the verge of a great discovery. It was most fortunate we were kept in this afternoon; if we hadn't happened to be at the window just then, we shouldn't have heard their plans." Cicely's face had lengthened considerably at the idea of the black doings which it was evidently their duty to investigate. "I don't know how we're to follow them in the dark," she said, after a moment's hesitation. "We must," declared Lindsay emphatically. "I feel it all depends on us. Monica may be in the greatest danger, and we are the only ones who know anything about the matter, and can save her." The tea-bell ringing at that moment sent them down to the dining-hall. The meal had been delayed half an hour on account of the tournament, so preparation followed immediately afterwards, and Lindsay and Cicely were obliged, with their thoughts still running on possible tragedies, to endeavour to apply their minds to the unromantic details of parsing. It seemed of such minor importance whether a verb were transitive or intransitive, weak or strong, compared with whether Mrs. Wilson and Scott were really going to meet in the garden to carry out some fell intention. The time seemed endless until the books were at last put away, and they could snatch a few moments for private talk. "There's one comfort," said Lindsay, "they won't begin until it's dark, so they can't have been doing anything while we've been in prep." "It's generally light for quite half an hour after we're in bed," said Cicely. "I don't see yet how we're to know when they're starting." "We shall find out," returned Lindsay confidently. "I have a kind of feeling that something is going to happen to-night." "What are you two whispering about?" asked Nora Proctor curiously. "Oh, only a joke of our own!" "You've got some secret, I'm sure," said Beryl Austen; "you're always looking at each other and making signs. I noticed you yesterday during arithmetic." "Do tell us, Cicely," begged Marjorie Butler. "You and I used to be friends, but we never have a secret together now." "There's really nothing worth telling," declared Cicely, much embarrassed. "We shall have to be careful though," said Lindsay afterwards. "We don't want the others to hear, and then go poking about and making discoveries." "Certainly not; if there's anything to be found out, I'd rather we found it out ourselves."