"Why, Shep, what are you doing? You never tear things." Cleo charged, attempting to rescue the remains of the yellow silk handkerchief.
But Shep would not release his hold on the rags—instead he growled. Could Cleo have known why, she would have complimented him on being go clever a detective, for the handkerchief was one of Reda's and mate to the one Shep brought in with him the night he received the bullet in his leg. But the girls knew nothing of this.
"Shall we go up for the bag?" Cleo asked Mary, desisting in her efforts to unmask Shep.
"I suppose we better," Mary replied, as they made their way to the end of the hall from which point the hidden stairs were built. "It is so long since I have been up here I shall hardly know what it looks like."
Mary went first and Cleo followed close to her heels. At the top Mary stood still and drew back a little. Then she turned and motioned to Cleo.
"What's the matter?" whispered Cleo, seeing Mary make haste to collect the most important things.
"There are a lot of strange boxes and things up there," Mary said in a hushed voice. "Hark! What was that!"
Both girls stood breathless, afraid to move. Over in a far corner of the long, dark room, something chattered and squeaked, then squealed!
"What ever can it be?" asked Cleo. "It is surely something alive, but
I don't know what could make that sort of noise."
"I do," said Mary. "That's a monkey. How do you suppose it got in here?"