"Forgive me," purred Daphne, "but I'm going to say we must fly. I'd no idea it was so late. People are coming to dinner, and we must go back by Brooch, because we've run out of ice."

Our host protested--not very heartily--and was overruled. Mutual regret was suitably expressed. Without more ado we descended into the hall.

Here at the front door the decencies of leave-taking were observed. The host and hostesses were thanked, the parting guests sped. A moment later, we were sliding down the avenue to the lodge-gates. As we swung on to the road--

"Where's the book?" said Daphne. "That man's a liar."

"At Cholmondeley Street," said I. "But you're right about Vandy. He's trying to keep something back."

"He's so excited he doesn't know what to do," said Daphne. "That's clear."

"Well, what the deuce is it?" said Berry. "I've read the blinkin' book, but I'll swear there's nothing in it about buried treasure."

"Whatever it is," said I, "it's in that book. I'll get it to-morrow.

D'you really want any ice?"

Daphne shook her head.

"But I couldn't stay there with that man another minute."

Adele lifted up her sweet voice.

"I feel very guilty," she said. "I've upset you all, I've given everything away to your cousin with both hands, and I've----"

"Nonsense, darling," said Daphne. "You did the natural thing. How could you know----"

Jonah interrupted her with a laugh.

"One thing's certain," he said. "I'll bet old Vandy's cursing the day he rushed into print."

Upon reflection it seemed idle for any one of us to journey to London and back merely to fetch a volume, so the next morning one of the servants was dispatched instead, armed with a note to the housekeeper at Cholmondeley Street, telling her exactly where the book would be found.

The man returned as we were finishing dinner, and _The History of the Pleydell Family_ was brought to Berry while we sat at dessert.

Nuts and wine went by the board.

As my brother-in-law cut the string, we left our places and crowded about him....

Reference to the index bade us turn to page fifty-four.

As the leaves flicked, we waited breathlessly. Then--

"Here we are," said Berry. "'WILLIAM PLEYDELL. In 1652 Nicholas died, to be succeeded by his only child, William, of whom little is known. This is perhaps as well, for such information as is to hand, regarding his life and habits, shows him to have been addicted to no ordinarily evil ways. The l.u.s.tre which his father and grandfather had added to the family name William seems to have spared no effort to tarnish. When profligacy was so fashionable, a man must have lived hard indeed to attract attention. Nevertheless, Samuel Pepys, the Diarist, refers to him more than once, each time commenting upon the vileness of his company and his offensive behaviour. Upon one occasion, we are told, at the play-house the whole audience was scandalized by a _loose drunken frolic,_ in which _Mr. William Pleydell, a gentleman of Hampshire,_ played a disgraceful part. What was worse, he carried his dissolute habits into the countryside, and at one time his way of living at the family seat White Ladies was so openly outrageous that the inc.u.mbent of Bilberry actually denounced the squire from the pulpit, referring to him as 'a notorious evil-liver' and 'an abandoned wretch.' If not for his good name, however, for the house and pleasure-gardens he seems to have had some respect, for it was during his tenure that the stables were rebuilt and the gardens decorated with statuary which has since disappeared. '_A sundial_'"--the sensation which the word produced was profound, and Jill cried out with excitement--"'_a sundial, bearing the date 1663 and the cipher W.P., still stands in the garden of the old dower-house, which pa.s.sed out of the hands of the family early in the nineteenth century._'"

Berry stopped reading, and laid the book down.

"The dower-house?" cried Daphne blankly.

Her husband nodded.

"But I never knew there was one. Besides----"

"Better known to-day as 'The Lawn, Bilberry.'"

"Quite right," said Jonah. "A hundred years ago that stood inside the park."

"The Lawn?" cried Jill. "Why, that's where the fire was. Years and years ago. I remember old Nanny taking me down to see it the next day. And it's never been rebuilt."

"To my knowledge," said I, "it's had a board up, saying it's for sale, for the last fifteen years. Shall we go in for it? They can't want much.

The house is gutted, the garden's a wilderness, and----"

A cry from Adele interrupted me. While we were talking, she had picked up the volume.

"Listen to this," she said. "' William Pleydell died unmarried and intestate in 1667, and was succeeded by his cousin Anthony. Except that during the former's tenure a good deal of timber was cut, White Ladies had been well cared for. The one blot upon his stewardship was the disappearance of the greater part of the family plate, which Nicholas Pleydell's will proves to have been unusually rare and valuable. _There used to exist a legend, for which the author can trace no foundation, that William had brought it from London during the Great Plague and buried it, for want of a strong-room, at White Ladies._ A far more probable explanation is that its graceless inheritor surrept.i.tiously disposed of the treasure for the same reason as he committed waste, viz., to spend the proceeds upon riotous living.'"

Dumbly we stared at the reader....

The murder was out.

Berry whipped out his watch.

"Nine o'clock," he announced. "We can do nothing to-night. And that sweep Vandy's got a long lead. We haven't a moment to lose. Who are the agents for The Lawn?"

"It's on the board," said I, "and I've read it a thousand times, but I'm hanged if I can remember whether it's Miller of Brooch, or a London firm."

"Slip over there the first thing in the morning," said Jonah. "If it's Miller, so much the better. You can go straight on to Brooch. If it's a London man--well, there's always the telephone."

"I hope to heaven," said Daphne, "it's--it's still for sale."

"Vandy's got Scotch blood in him," said Berry. "He won't lay out fifteen hundred or so without looking round."

"More like three thousand," said Jonah.

"It's a lot of money to risk," said Daphne slowly.

"Yes," said Adele anxiously. "I feel that. I know it's your affair, but, if it hadn't been for my dream, this would never have happened. And supposing there's nothing in it.... I mean, it would be dreadful to think you'd thrown away all that money and gotten nothing in exchange.

And they always say that dreams are contrary."

"Let's face the facts," said my brother-in-law. "Taking everything into consideration, doesn't it look like a vision, or second sight?"

We agreed vociferously. Only Adele looked ill at ease.

Berry continued.

"Very well, then. Less than a month ago all our silver was taken off us by comic burglars. Doesn't it look as if we were being offered the chance of replacing it by something better?"

Again we agreed.