"Oh, he's a boy-cousin who lives with us," Bess enlightened her. "He was Mother's sister's child, and his parents are both dead now, so Mother had him come here a year or two ago. He's twelve years old and a perfect nuisance! He hates girls, so he generally keeps out of our way. That's why you've never seen him. But, come on! I'm wild to hear what's coming next! Margaret wouldn't tell us a single thing she's found out."
"Wait a minute before we begin," spoke up Corinne, "and let's just run over what we've already discovered. It'll keep us from getting mixed up. A young girl of sixteen has run away from her home in Bermuda, and is in some place where she thinks her life is in danger. Before she ran away, she did something to assist in some plot against her country (which must be Bermuda), and probably that's one reason why she is in danger. Maybe something's been discovered about it. She's staying with a Madame M., and it seems to be a house of mystery.
"One thing I have pretty well guessed, and probably so have you all—that this must have happened a long time ago. Her language isn't very—well, modern—sounds to me like stories I've read about old England, and America too in former times. I think it's likely she's in one of those two countries when she writes—probably England, because she speaks of 'Madame M.' and 'Lady Blank,' and those titles don't somehow go with America. Then there's something strange about a sapphire signet. But go on now, Margaret! Maybe you've discovered something new!"
Margaret smiled mysteriously. "Perhaps just a few things!" she admitted. "Here's where we left off. I've copied it all from the beginning. You remember where she tells about explaining the signet later? Now I'll go on:
"There is something strange and evil about this house. I can trust no one. Especially do I mistrust the steward. He hath a sleek smile and ingratiating manners, but he is wicked to the heart of him. He associates much with one Corbie, who keeps the tavern down the road hard by the woods. Corbie has been to this house, and once was closeted long with the steward. When he came forth to go, he gazed hard at me as I stood on the lawn. It made me shudder for an hour afterward."
"That's the first name she has mentioned—'Corbie,'" interrupted Corinne. "Let's remember it. Who knows but it may help us?"
"There's another coming right away," added Margaret, "though I don't know whether it will be of any help or not.
"But one thing has happened lately to cheer me. Two nights ago I went to my room, which does not look toward the river, but toward the back of the house. I was minded to retire early, having naught to occupy me through the long evening. Madame M. retires at nine, but I never see her after the evening meal. She is usually in conference with the steward, who has chief charge of the affairs of this great house. She appears to place much confidence in him. But that is not to the point.
"I had opened my window and was leaning out a moment when I heard a softly whistled tune, and knew that H. was there. For the tune he ever whistles is 'The Lass of Richmond Hill,' which he declared, when first he brought me here, was right appropriate to me now."
"I wonder why?" queried Jess.
"I can't imagine," answered Corinne; "'lass' she certainly is, but what has 'Richmond Hill' to do with it? What is 'Richmond Hill,' and where?"