“You wonder what lies on the other side.”

“I’ll make a guess,” said Mrs. Oates. “A side of bacon and a string of Spanish onions, and if you open the store room door, you’ll find I’m not far out. Come along. That’s all here.”.

“No,” Helen declared. “After your nice little bedtime tales, I shan’t sleep until I’ve opened every door and satisfied myself that no one’s hiding inside.”

“And what would a shrimp like you do if you found the murderer?”

“Go for him, before I’d time to think. When you feel angry, you can’t feel frightened.”.

In spite of Mrs. Oates’ laughter, Helen insisted on fetch ing a candle from the scullery and exploring the basement. Mrs. Oates lagged behind her, as she made an exhaustive search of the pantry, storeroom, larder, boot-closet, and the other offices.

At the end of the passage, she turned into a darker alley, where the coal-cellars and wood-house were located. She flashed her light over each recess, stooping behind dusty sacks and creeping into corners.

“What d’you expect to find?” asked Mrs. Oates. “A nice young man?”

Her grin faded, however, as Helen paused before a locked door.

“There’s one place as you, nor no one else, will ever get into,” she said grimly. “If the luny gets inside there, I’ll say good luck to him.”

“Why?” asked Helen. “What is it?”

“The wine-cellar-and the Professor keeps the key. It’s the nearest you’ll ever get to it.”

Helen, who was a total abstainer, through force of circumstances, realized that, since she had been at the Summit, o intoxicant had been served with the meals.

“Are they all teetotallers here?” she asked.

“There’s nothing to hinder the Professor having his glass,” said Mrs. Oates, “seeing as he keeps the key. But Oates and the young gentlemen have got to go to the Bull for their drop of tiddley. And Mr. Rice is the only one as has ever asked me if I have a mouth.”

“What a shame not to allow you beer, with all your heavy work,” sympathized Helen.

“I get beer-money,” admitted Mrs. Oates. “Miss Warren’s got a bee in her bonnet about no drink served in the house. But she’s like the Professor, no trouble so long as you leave her with her books. She’s not mean—only you mustn’t do a thing what’s worth doing. That’s her.”

That was exactly how Miss Warren had struck Helen—a Grey studious negation.

Mrs. Oates relieved her feelings by kicking the cellar door, before they turned away..

“I’ve promised myself one thing,” she said solemnly. “It’s this, if ever I come across the key of this cellar, there’ll be a bottle short.”

“And the fairies will have drunk it, I suppose?” asked Helen. “Come back to the fire. I’ve something thrilling to tell you.”

When they were back in the kitchen, however, Mrs. Oates began to chuckle.

“You’ve something to tell me.