Gavinia was dragged to the Lair, and though many a time they bumped her, she still tenderly nursed the paper-bag with her arm, or fondly thought she did so, for when unmuffled she discovered that it had been removed, as if by painless surgery.  And her captors’ tongues were sweeping their chins for stray crumbs.

The wench was offered her choice of Stroke’s gallant fellows, but “Wha carries me wears me,” said she, promptly, and not only had he to carry her from one end of the Den to the other, but he must do it whistling as if barely conscious that she was there.  So after many attempts (for she was always willing to let them have their try) Corp of Corp, speaking for Sir Joseph and the others, announced a general retreat.

Instead of taking this prisoner’s life, Stroke made her his tool, releasing her on condition that every seventh day she appeared at the Lair with information concerning the doings in the town.  Also, her name was Agnes of Kingoldrum, and, if she said it was not, the plank.  Bought thus, Agnes proved of service, bringing such bags of news that Stroke was often occupied now in drawing diagrams of Thrums and its strongholds, including the residence of Cathro, with dotted lines to show the direction of proposed underground passages.

And presently came by this messenger disquieting rumors indeed.  Another letter, being the third in six months, had reached the Dovecot, addressed, not to Miss Ailie, but to Miss Kitty.  Miss Kitty had been dead fully six years, and Archie Piatt, the post, swore that this was the eighteenth, if not the nineteenth, letter he had delivered to her name since that time.  They were all in the same hand, a man’s, and there had been similar letters while she was alive, but of these he kept no record.  Miss Ailie always took these letters with a trembling hand, and then locked herself in her bedroom, leaving the key in such a position in its hole that you might just as well go straight back to the kitchen.  Within a few hours of the arrival of these ghostly letters, tongues were wagging about them, but to the two or three persons who (after passing a sleepless night) bluntly asked Miss Ailie from whom they came, she only replied by pursing her lips.  Nothing could be learned at the post-office save that Miss Ailie never posted any letters there, except to two Misses and a Mrs., all resident in Redlintie.  The mysterious letters came from Australy or Manchester, or some such part.

What could Stroke make of this?  He expressed no opinion, but oh, his face was grim.  Orders were immediately given to double the sentinels.  A barrel was placed in the Queen’s Bower.  Sawdust was introduced at immense risk into the Lair.  A paper containing this writing, “248xho317 Oxh4591AWS314dd5,” was passed round and then solemnly burned.  Nothing was left to chance.