"The shack!" he exclaimed, making a brave attempt to sit up. "The shack! How--how wonderful!" He sank back dizzily. A sharp pain had shot across his temples. When this pain was gone, he gave himself over entirely to memories. The girl's face had vanished. Something told him, however, that she was seated close by his side. Memories, gorgeous, thrilling memories! They would be with him until he died. He and this slim, dark-haired girl had not been lovers; much more than that, very much more. They had been pals. And as pals they had shared dangers. They had dared together and had won. Drew Lane had been with them, Newton Mills too, and Tom Howe. Men there had been who would gladly have killed them. Yet, standing side by side and fighting for the good of all, they had won. "And now?" He said the words aloud. "Now you have only to rest," came in that same melodious voice. "Someone hit you rather hard on the head. That's what you get for going it alone. You might have known we were still in Chicago. You did not look us up. You can't go it alone. No one can--not in this world of today. We stand shoulder to shoulder, or we don't stand at all. "But now--" the girl's voice fell. "Now you are here in the shack and Drew Lane is here. Others are not far away. You must rest." Her voice trailed off into silence. Johnny wanted to tell her he had tried to find Drew Lane at the shack and had failed; that he had not wished to go it alone, that he did appreciate his friends. But somehow the words would not come. His thoughts were all mixed up with dreams, dreams of eyes blinking from the wall, animated skeletons and mysterious packages. Truth was, he had fallen asleep. * * * * * * * * "I went to an auction." Five hours Johnny had slept on a cot in the corner of the large room at the back of the shack. Now he was sitting up on the cot, talking eagerly. From beneath his crown of bandages his two eyes gleamed like twin stars. "I bought a library, a professor's library, bought it at auction. Because he was a professor I had to get it back to him. "I found his address. I went there. I was in the hall. Eyes gleamed at me. A skeleton danced before me, my skeleton. I--" "Your skeleton?" Drew Lane, the keen detective, grinned at him. "Sure it was my skeleton! Don't you suppose a fellow knows his skeleton when he sees it?" Drew Lane laughed, a low laugh, but made no reply. "Then," Johnny went on rapidly, "a girl opened the door, a taffy-haired, boyish sort of girl, and said she was sorry. It is a house of magic, the 'House of a Thousand Eyes.'" "Eyes?" Joyce Mills leaned forward eagerly. "What sort of eyes?" "That," said Johnny, "is what I don't know. They seem to do things, those eyes, open doors and shut 'em, make coffee maybe, I don't know. That's why I'm going back. I want to know. Oh! Don't I though!" "So you're going back?" Drew smiled.