It was a short and breathless ride out to Hanford, through a part of the country quite unfamiliar to Patricia, as it was off the regular trolley and railroad lines. They passed through the little town at a breakneck speed, purposely, as Chet explained. It was such a tiny place and so out of the world that every passing vehicle was apt to be an object of interest to the inhabitants and he didn't want their car to be specially noticed and commented upon. Twice Delia protested strongly against the pace, but Patricia pretended not to hear her, and they sped on.

Outside the town limits they slowed down and proceeded at a more leisurely pace, and presently turned into a rough little apology for 147a road leading through the woods. Under a dense mass of overhanging boughs they stopped, securely screened from the road.

"Now here's where we begin the great Sherlock Holmes act!" announced Chet, gaily. "The house is just beyond the edge of the woods. You sit here tight, Ted, an' don't you budge unless you hear this whistle or see us come runnin' back. Then you have the engine ready to beat it like blazes. You understand, don't you?"

Ted, still inarticulate, nodded vigorously.

"Now, come along, miss, if you're ready," went on Chet, "an' we'll scout around the edge of the woods nearest to the house for a spell an' see what's doin'."

Leaving Delia in the car, somewhat mystified, but still unquestioningly happy, Patricia, with pounding heart, followed his lead and, Indian file, they plowed their way through the deep underbrush and tangled vines till they stood at the edge of the clearing, protected 148from sight only by some overhanging boughs. Beyond them stretched the expanse of a couple of hundred feet of grass. It had once, doubtless, been only a rough meadow, but was now converted into a smooth, well-kept lawn running to the very steps of the porch where Chet had hidden the night before. The house was of the old-fashioned "salt-box" type, with long, sloping roof running to within a few feet of the ground at the back. It had been renovated and painted, with the addition of a wide, screened veranda on one side. But its distinctive feature was the shutters, doubtless the old original ones, of solid wood with little crescents cut in them near the top, and painted a bright green.

There was no one about, not a sign of a living creature, though all the windows were open, their pretty draperies swaying in the morning breeze.

"What had we better do?" questioned Patricia. 149"We mustn't go any nearer the house."

"No, we must sit tight right here and watch what goes on for a while," agreed Chet. "What I'm trying to do is to see, by who goes in or out of the place, whose around, an' what chance we have of passin' the glad word to the little mam'selle."

They sat in almost absolute silence for nearly half an hour and nothing happened at all. No one went either in or out, no face appeared at a window, nor door was opened or shut.

"I believe it's deserted," whispered Patricia, impatiently. "I'm sure they've all gone away."

"Don't you believe it!" retorted Chet. "They ain't such geese as to all go off an' leave the house open like that. But if somethin' don't happen purty quick, I'm goin' to beat it around to the back an' see the lay of the land there."

150Something, however, did happen, and very shortly after. A man in a chauffeur's outfit appeared from somewhere at the back of the house and went over to a small garage, barely visible from where they stood hidden. Five minutes later there was the sound of a motor starting, and an automobile shot around the curve of the drive and came to a halt before the door. Almost at once the door opened, a beautifully gowned woman came out, stepped into the motor, and was driven rapidly away.

Patricia clutched Chet's arm spasmodically. "It was Madame Vanderpoel!" she whispered. "Oh, it made me shudder just to look at her again. And I used to like her, too. But now there's something awful about her!"

But Chet was interested in something quite different.

"Hooray!" he exclaimed in an undertone. "If she's flew the coop, we got a fightin' chance anyway. Now, I may be wrong, but from what I seen last night an' the lay of the land 151to-day, I figure there's only that grouchy maid an' the little 'un left in the house. Let's wait a while longer an' see if we see anybody else."

They waited in another long silence. Then Patricia's heart almost stopped beating. The front door opened and Virginie de Vos stepped out, looked about her half cautiously, half languidly, and started to cross the lawn in the very direction where they were hidden. She had a book in her hand, and Patricia suspected that her intention was to sit and read in the cool shade of the woods.

"Oh, it couldn't have happened better, could it?" she whispered ecstatically to Chet. "I've been fairly praying for something like this ever since we've been here."

"Fine!" replied Chet, in ill-suppressed excitement. "Now, looka here. I ain't goin' to complicate things between you an' her by hangin' around while you have your talk. I'm just goin' to disappear in the woods back here a ways, but I'll be right within call, an' 152when you want me, you can get me. An' p'raps I'd better go an' entertain Delia a while, or she'll be wantin' to quit this picnic. See?"

Patricia nodded, mutely grateful for his tact, but her gaze was fastened on the girl, approaching so slowly and lifelessly across the lawn. Chet melted away into the leafy growth behind her, and she herself drew back a little farther into the woods, so that the meeting might not take place too close to the house. In another moment she and Virginie stood suddenly face to face.

Patricia sprang forward with a little cry of joy. For a moment an answering gleam leaped into Virginie's eyes. Then, to Patricia's unbounded astonishment, the girl shrank back, her eyes wide and terror-stricken, her hands outspread before her as if to push her friend far from her sight.

"Why, Virginie!" cried Patricia. "What is 153the trouble? Have I frightened you so? Aren't you glad to see me?"

"Yes,—oh, no, no! You must not come. I will not talk to you. I cannot! I cannot!"

Patricia was amazed at her incoherent distress, and could make nothing out of the contradictory statements she uttered.

"But I thought you would be glad to see me, Virginie. I was so delighted to find out where you were. And you are in trouble too, or danger, or are worried about something. Won't you tell me about it? I came all this way to find out how you were and what I can do to help you."

"You can do nothing," the girl answered dully. "Go back and never think of me or try to see me again. It is the only safe thing for you."

"But I do not understand!" cried Patricia, in despair. "What can you mean, Virginie? Didn't you call me up last night and warn me 154of danger and say you too were in danger, but you didn't have time to finish, or were cut off, or something. I was so worried about you and—and I—found out where you were, and have come to find out all about it."

"I tried to warn you not to come," Virginie answered, "but I—but I—did not get a chance to finish. I—I could not make you understand. When I said I was in danger I—I only—meant in danger of being overheard."

"But, Virginie," cried Patricia, in utter bewilderment, "what do you mean by 'warning me not to come'? How could you think I was coming, when I didn't even know where you were? It was only by an—an accident that I found out where you were—later."

The girl stared at her fixedly, a sudden light dawning in her face.

"But, tell me, how did you come?" she whispered excitedly. "Was it not with—with Madame Vanderpoel?"

"With Madame Vanderpoel? Indeed not!" 155exclaimed Patricia, and to her utter discomfiture, Virginie murmured a faint, "I am so glad!" and dropped in a huddled heap on the ground, hiding her face in her hands.

"But why should you think I came with Madame Vanderpoel?" questioned Patricia, determined to get to the bottom of this mystery. "I have neither seen her nor heard from her since she left the hotel."

"She—she has gone to the city to—to call for you," murmured Virginie, her face still buried in her hands. "She was going to urge you to come out to see me, saying I was quite ill and wished it. She was going to put the matter very urgently. Oh, I prayed that you would not come! And when I saw you, I thought you had come with her, and—and—" She stopped with a shuddering sob.

"Virginie," said Patricia, in a very firm, quiet voice, "won't you please explain all this to me? What is it Madame Vanderpoel wished of me? Why was she trying to get me 156here? And what have you to do with it all?"

The girl crouching on the ground looked up at her suddenly.

"Do you remember," she murmured, "that once you promised to—to love and—and trust me, no matter what happened, in spite of all—all appearances that—that seemed against me? Can you keep that promise—in spite of—of everything?" She looked so appealingly at her friend that Patricia went down on her knees beside the crouching girl and put both arms about her.

"I never yet failed to keep a promise, Virginie dear. Believe me, I love you and trust you just as much as ever, and always will. I think there is some terrible secret that is making you act very differently from what you would under ordinary circumstances. I won't ask you what it is, but if you ever want to tell me, you can be sure it will be safe with me."

The gentle words acted like magic on the crushed, unhappy girl. She sat up suddenly, 157as if inspired by some strong determination, put both hands in Patricia's, and looked her straight in the eyes.

"You are a darling! You are better to me, more kind, than I ever hoped or dreamed. I am going to tell you all—all I know, though I do not dare to think what would happen to me if they suspected it."

"Who are 'they'?" questioned Patricia.

"The Boches—the German spies!" answered Virginie, in a hushed tone. "That is a house full of them. Did you not know it?"

Patricia started back in real horror. This, then, was the confirmation of her very worst fears.

"But you—" she stammered. "Surely you are not one of them? You said you were a Belgian."

Virginie nodded lifelessly. "I am truly a Belgian—but I am their helpless tool."

"But your aunt?" cried Patricia, still unconvinced. "Surely Madame Vanderpoel is a 158Belgian too. Why does she not protect you? Is she, too, in their power?"

Virginie shuddered. "Madame Vanderpoel is no Belgian. She is a German by birth—and at heart. She married my mother's brother,—he is now dead,—and she lived for many years in our country and was to all outward appearance a Belgian. But she has been secretly, all these years, in the service of the German spy system. I never dreamed of such a thing myself, nor did my father, till she had brought me away to England and America and had me completely in her power."

A great light suddenly dawned on Patricia. Here was the explanation of many curious incidents that had happened at the hotel. But bewilderment on some points still posse............