"Can't you get a boat and row out for him?" asked Estelle, seeing that Mrs. Thayne was unable to speak. "Poor dear boy, he must be cold and famished."

"I'm off to Noirmont Point," replied Mr. Fisher briefly. "It shouldn't take long to pull over and back, provided that I pick up a boat quickly."

In spite of the tutor's best efforts, darkness had fallen before the marooned prisoner was returned to his anxious family, who sat around to see him eat everything pressed upon him. Roger was pale and very subdued. Strangest of all, he had come up Noirmont Terrace pressed close to the side of the obnoxious Bill Fish and not in the least resenting the hand that rested on his shoulder.

Having consumed all the food in sight, he yielded without protest to his mother's desire that he should go to bed in order to ward off possible chill. When Mr. Fisher, heartily thanked, had taken his departure, Mrs. Thayne started for Roger's room. On its threshold she stopped for the boys were talking.

"I hated it like time out there," said Roger, now reposing luxuriously in bed. "But I hated worse to have you and Mother worried. I didn't purposely go over to the island, Win."

"I know you didn't," said his brother. "I was sure that something you couldn't help had happened."

"It did," sighed Roger. "I guess I'll never again do anything that worries Mother, now I know how it feels to worry over somebody myself. And I say, Win, Bill Fish is all right! To think of his knowing the scout signals! And he pulled out for me himself in a heavy old dory that weighed a ton. Why, Bill Fish isn't so bad!"

"And have you just found that out?" asked Win laughing. "I've known it all the time."

CHAPTER XIX

AT CORBIeRE

Not until Friday did Win receive the longed-for letter from Paris.

He tore it open eagerly.

"DEAR WIN," it ran, "I've just arrived in town and am wishing I was back in Jersey. As the steamer sailed, I looked over at St Aubin's and thought of you. You couldn't see me of course, both for fog and because I was in the wheel-house with the pilot, Jim Trott, a fellow from Gorey village.

"Probably you thought that we didn't get into the cave on Monday on account of the weather. It was beastly, but I decided to try, and when Connie knew my plan, she insisted on going with me.

Pierre came too, with a lantern and we went down without much trouble.

"Pierre and I tackled your stone pile at once and we pitched quant.i.ties aside, but couldn't finish because Connie, who was watching the tide, called a halt too soon. But we cleared enough rocks away to feel rather sure there is an opening of some kind beyond; just possibly the pa.s.sage you are so keen on, more probably connecting with another cave. The Jersey cliffs are honey-combed with them. How's that for exciting news?

"Connie haled us out before there was really any need and of course the tide did not serve for us to go again. When I come at Easter, I'll finish the job if necessary. After playing ball with several tons of stone, we then explored the vaults, armed with a hammer and a long line.

"Well, old fellow, I pounded that north wall inch by inch and I can't conscientiously say I struck anything that sounded at all hollow. But still, it's not like tapping on plaster or wood; one couldn't reasonably expect the same result for the stone is probably some feet thick. And if the whole wall is the side of the tunnel, naturally it would all sound alike, so that test doesn't really prove or disprove anything.

"The discovery Connie and I did make, and to my mind it is rather important, is that you are right in thinking that there is a discrepancy between the walls of the oldest vault and the adjacent cellar. Outside the house, the foundation wall runs flush the length of the library and the wing beyond; inside, that same foundation wall doesn't jibe. According to our measurements, there is a difference of over a metre, almost four feet, in the length of the part.i.tion at right angles to the north wall as reckoned on either side. This certainly bears out your theory of a pa.s.sage running along that wall.

"We looked very carefully but could not detect that there had ever been any opening, but all the masonry is so rough that perhaps we couldn't expect to find it.

"Uncle d.i.c.k is interested but sceptical, says the difference in measurement may be accounted for by walls built at different times. When he thinks it over a little, he will see that no Lisle in his senses,--and the Lisles possess sense,--would have put four extra feet of solidity into a wall which had no earthly reason to need such treatment. But he said that when I came at Easter, we may have a mason and knock a hole wherever we choose. Messing about in the cellar is a harmless amus.e.m.e.nt that may keep us out of mischief and provide employment for some deserving workman.

Before that date, I trust you will succeed in getting Uncle d.i.c.k into a less doubting frame of mind. Easter is but a month away and if all goes well, I'll surely be back and we will hunt that Spanish chest to its lair.

"Had no adventures coming here. Jean seemed relieved when I told him to drive. When I reached my rooms, I found a note directing me to report for duty to-morrow prepared to show some important American from the western States the sights of Paris. That means a gay and giddy day. I only hope I sha'n't have to interpret while he buys hats for Madam and the young ladies at home. Once I was let in for that and it was pretty sickening. I've often wondered what the ladies thought of those hats. I also hope he won't be keen on climbing the Eiffel tower, for that's one of the things that's not done in Paris.

"I must go to bed for it is after two and my day to-morrow, or rather to-day, may include an evening as well.

"Till Easter then adieu, and all best wishes,

"M. R. HAMILTON."

This letter naturally afforded Win a great deal of satisfaction and his interest and pleasure were shared by the others. To wait a whole month to solve the mystery of the Spanish chest when so distinct a clue appeared already in his hand, was a trial of patience. Naturally Colonel Lisle would not be likely to go ahead in the matter until Max returned to inspire action by his youthful enthusiasm, and it was only fair that Max should be in at the finish. Win wondered whether Connie shared the Colonel's scepticism. This proved not the case, only that Connie and her father were going to London for a week or two and the little lady of the Manor had other ideas to occupy her pretty head.

"We may even run over to Paris," she announced during a farewell call at Rose Villa. "Max has been begging us ever since he was sent there, so it's possible we may cross for a few days and plan so that we come back together at Easter."

"Wouldn't it be jolly to go around Paris with Mr. Max," said Win almost enviously. "I haven't forgotten how dandy he was to me in Washington. Dad took me along when he was calling on some official and then found he was in for a morning's conference. The Secretary sent for a young man, who proved to be Mr. Max and told him to look after me. I was only fifteen, but Mr. Max took as much pains to give me a good time as though I'd been somebody really important."

"That's like Max," said Connie briefly, her eyes showing pleasure at Win's tribute. "I think he's detailed for service such as that more often than the other young men of the Emba.s.sy because he gets on so well with all sorts of people. It's a real gift and a very valuable one for a prospective diplomat. But you are celebrating one of your great national days this week, aren't you?"

"Yes, Washington's birthday," said Frances. "Luckily it comes on Wednesday, so we have a holiday. We were going to have a picnic at Corbiere and invite you, Miss Connie."

"Indeed, I wish I could be there," said Constance with genuine regret in her voice, "but I'll be in London. We'll keep up our spirits by remembering that it's only a brief time to Easter and then we are to start again on the trail of the Spanish chest."

Estelle consented to join the holiday celebration, and when the twenty-second dawned bright and sunny, Rose Villa was the scene of an animated flurry. In the dining-room, Edith, Frances and Estelle were putting up the lunch, while Win collected painting traps for the picture he hoped to sketch, and Roger departed to bring the pony and cart engaged for the day.

Corbiere Point was distant about four miles and all except Win and his mother proposed to walk, since the little carriage could take lunch baskets and wraps.

Roger appeared with a plump stubborn Welsh pony, attached to a funny little cart which he gayly informed them was a "gingle."

Neither Edith nor Estelle, who were familiar with the term as used in Cornwall, thought it odd but Roger considered it most absurd.

Even the short legs of a tiny pony could cover the ground more rapidly than the walking party, and when the pedestrians reached their destination, no sign of Win, his mother, pony or gingle was visible.

"Oh, what a wonderful view!" exclaimed Estelle stopping short.

Before them lay Corbiere lighthouse, built on a bold rock, at flood tide an island, but at this hour approachable from the mainland by a causeway. In the foreground stretched an expanse of jagged red reefs and shining pools with a single martello tower rising in dignified grandeur. At the right lay a hill, its summit crowned by one stone cottage with a thatched roof, and down the hill a narrow road wandered to disappear in a cleft between two gigantic red granite boulders sprinkled with glittering quartz and partly covered with gray and bright orange lichens. Green gra.s.s and turquoise blue sea with a single white sail dipping to the horizon completed the color scheme. Near at hand hovered several of the sea-crows, _corbieres_, which have given the point its name.

Estelle's soft eyes grew wide and a pretty pink flush came into her usually pale cheeks as she gazed into the distance. Roger and the girls were looking for the rest of the party.

The thatched cottage seemed utterly without life, windows blank and no sign of any domestic proceedings.

"It must be deserted," said Edith as they strolled on.

"Here's a shed with something black in it," said Roger. "I can just see its head. It's a goat."

"It's a black stocking hung to dry," declared Edith.

"Stocking, nothing," replied Roger. "I know it's a goat."

The two hung over the gate and deliberately stared into the little shed. "No goat ever stopped still for so long," persisted Edith, when three full minutes had pa.s.sed without motion in the shed.

"I'll go in and see," began Roger, about to climb the gate. A sudden exclamation from Frances deterred him.

"Goodness, here's a black cat! Where did it come from?"

Upon the doorstep now sat a perfectly motionless black cat.

"Look at the black hens!" added Edith, bursting into laughter.