So attracted was Pamela by the windmill, which proved on nearer inspection to be even more picturesque than it had appeared from a distance, that she arranged at once to stay behind and make a sketch of it while the other three went on to Inchmoor.
"And if I've finished before you return I'll come on to the town and meet you. But if you don't see me wandering round Inchmoor, look for me here as you come back. You don't mind me staying behind, do you? But I feel just in the mood to try sketching this old place to-day," Pamela said.
The others said that of course they did not mind, and after refreshing each other's memory with the reminder, that five o'clock was the hour they had told Martha they would be home for 'high tea,' they left Pamela beside the old mill on the hill-top and started to wend their way down the lane on the other side, toward the distant spires of Inchmoor, two miles away.
"Do you know, I've been thinking quite a lot about that locked-up room next to mine," said Isobel to the other two, as they went along. "Oh, yes, I know Pamela thinks it wiser not to talk too much about it for fear of adding 'fuel to the flames' of curiosity! But one can't help thinking about it! It's so frightfully strange. Now what do you think—in your own mind, Caroline—what do you think is inside that room?"
"Well," replied Caroline slowly, "I shouldn't be surprised if Miss Crabingway kept all her private papers and possessions that she treasures, and does not want us to use or spoil, locked up inside the room. I know that's what I'd have done if I'd been Miss Crabingway."
"You think it's only things then?" Beryl broke in. "Not—not a person?"
"What do you mean?" cried Isobel instantly, turning to Beryl with great interest.
Seeing that the other two were waiting eagerly for her reply, Beryl felt a momentary thrill of importance, and let her imagination run away with her.
"I mean," she said nervously, "supposing there was a secret entrance leading into that room—so that a person could get in and out without us knowing anything about it. And supposing some one occasionally crept into the room and—and spied on us through the keyhole—just to see what we were doing."
"Oh, Beryl, what an idea!" gasped Isobel in delight. "Whatever made you think of that?"