It was a dangerous thing for the girls to do. The simpleton, with the cunning of the mentally-deficient, might have decided to attack them all there in the darkness of the cave. And he would have had a good chance of doing it, too. But the gods that favor the daring watched over the girls that day and brought them safely through their adventure. Billie had evidently thoroughly cowed the simpleton, and his one thought was to get rid of his stolen goods as quickly as possible and thus evade the dreadful prison that loomed more horrible to him than death. There in a corner of the cave the girls found the knitting machinery model and the precious blue prints, besides a great pile of small trinkets that comprised pretty nearly everything that had been stolen from the girls during the last few weeks. They were no more eager to linger in the cave than Nick Budd was to have them. So they eagerly pocketed as many of the trinkets as they could—Connie snapping the precious recovered wrist watch about her wrist with as much joy as though it had been three times as valuable as it really was—and Billie, taking the candle from Nick Budd’s fingers, ordered him to carry the wooden machinery. She herself took charge of the blue prints. When they had reached the outside world once more, Billie blew out the candle, threw it into the cave, and readjusted the twigs at the entrance as best she could. Then she ordered Nick Budd to lead the way back to the Hall. This the simpleton did, although he sometimes staggered under the weight he carried and several times had to put his burden down. But in spite of the delays and the cold, the return journey seemed short to the girls, for they were triumphantly happy and chattered like magpies all the way back. “I’ve got my wrist watch! I’ve got my wrist watch!” crowed Connie over and over again till the girls got tired of hearing her and Laura asked her if she would mind changing her tune. “And won’t the girls be surprised when we tell them what sleuths we are,” added Vi. “Humph,” sniffed Laura. “Billie is the real detective. We’re only—what do you call ’em?—‘also rans.’ We come in at the end and clap noisily.” “Nonsense,” laughed Billie. “I couldn’t have done a thing without you girls. Look out,” she cried sharply, as Nick Budd stumbled and almost dropped his load. “If you should break that thing, Nick Budd, I’d murder you.” But this last was delivered in an undertone. The poor simpleton had troubles enough without being threatened. “Oh,” giggled Laura, incorrigibly, “ain’t she the vicious thing?” One would have thought that the girls had had about enough excitement that day, but it seemed that fate still held a little more in store for them. They were coming up the winding path that led to the Hall when they saw a black-clad figure that looked strangely familiar hurrying on before them. “Isn’t that Polly Haddon?” asked Vi, eagerly. “Yes, it is. Oh, what luck!”