“Maybe somebody stole it who had a grudge against Mrs. Haddon,” she suggested. Miss Walters looked inquiringly at the woman who had drawn away from her embrace and was wiping her eyes resignedly. “Is there any one you know of who might hold a grudge against your family?” Miss Walters asked. Mrs. Haddon went over to one of the dust-begrimed windows and stood there for a moment looking out, her fingers tapping a restless tattoo on the windowpane. Then she slowly shook her head. “No, I can’t think of any one,” she said, adding bitterly: “We were too poor and unimportant to make enemies of any one. But what does it matter?” She turned quickly from the window with one of her fierce changes of mood. “The invention is gone. I was a fool to think that any good fortune would ever come to me. Let me go home.” She brushed fiercely past Miss Walters, but the latter put out a gentle hand and detained her. “Wait a little,” she begged. Her heart ached for the other woman’s suffering. “Come into my office with me while I make inquiries and find out if any suspicious person has been seen about here lately. I am confident,” she added with an assurance that reached the other woman, “that before long we shall be able to recover your property. Will you trust me and believe that I want to help you?” “Yes,” said Polly Haddon, faint hope once more stirring in her heart. “You are more than kind to me.” With what different emotions the classmates left the tower room from those with which they had entered it so hopefully only a few minutes before. The girls supposed that now that Miss Walters had taken charge of Mrs. Haddon’s affairs, they would have no further interest in the matter. But, to their surprise and gratification, Miss Walters motioned them into her office also. Then she summoned the teachers to her one after another and questioned them carefully as to whom, if anybody, had been seen around Three Towers since the afternoon before. Through it all Mrs. Haddon sat with an expression of utter hopelessness on her face. Evidently the faint hope that Miss Walters had for the moment revived had died away again. It seemed that none of the teachers had seen anything that might arouse suspicion, and even the girls were beginning to despair when they were at last given a clue to work on. It was Miss Arbuckle who gave it to them. She showed considerable surprise at first at being questioned. But after wrinkling her forehead thoughtfully for a few minutes she remembered having seen somebody loitering about the building late on the preceding afternoon. “Could you identify the person?” asked Miss Walters quickly, alert at once. “No,” said Miss Arbuckle, hesitantly, “I couldn’t be at all certain because it was dusk and I saw him only from the window. But it looked like that simple son of Tim Budd, the gardener.” “Nick Budd!” cried the three girls together, and at the name Polly Haddon also roused from her reverie.