“I am not afraid,” responded Eleanor, flushing at Grace’s words, “but I know I should never have displayed the courage that you have.  I should never have dared dashing up to a haunted house to investigate uncanny lights.”

“My dear child,” exclaimed Miss Nevin, “do you suppose that I would allow you two slips of girls to prowl around that old house alone, on a night like this?”

“Miss Nevin,” Grace’s voice rose in its earnestness, “we must get that money to-night, even if I have to go back there alone.  It belongs to us, and we simply can’t let it slip through our fingers.”

“And so you shall get it,” was the answer, “but with John, the coachman, for a bodyguard.”

“May we go this minute?” chorused both girls.

“Yes,” nodded Miss Nevin.  “I’ll send word to John to get out the runabout and take you at once.”

Ten minutes later John, the coachman, and the two girls had squeezed into the runabout and were making as good time to the haunted house as the darkness would permit.  The heavy outside door was found to be securely padlocked, and the windows were locked.  With two blows of the small axe that he had brought with him, John shattered the glass of the very window through which Grace had peered, and, climbing in, helped the two girls in after him.

By the light of the two lanterns they had brought, the cupboard was easily located and opened and a diligent search was made for the hidden spring.

“Shall I smash in the paneling, miss?” asked the coachman.

“Perhaps you’d better,” assented Grace.  “I don’t seem to be able to find the key to the riddle.”  She endeavored to step out of John’s way, and as she did so, struck her foot smartly against the back wall of the cupboard near to the floor.  There was a curious grating sound and the panel slid back, revealing the welcome sight of the strong box reposing in the recess.

Unwittingly Grace had touched the secret spring.  Both girls cried out in triumph.  Then, hurrying to the window, they climbed out, ready to receive the box.  John set it on the window-sill, and, though very heavy, Grace and Eleanor combined forces and lowered it to the ground.  Leaping over the sill, the coachman picked it up, and the three set off at full speed down the path.

The ride back to “Heartsease” was a memorable one to at least two of the occupants of the machine.  But few remarks were exchanged.  Each girl was busy with her own thoughts.  The circumstances that had brought them together seemed too remarkable for mere words.

“‘To the victors belong the spoils,’” called Grace as she hopped out of the runabout before John could assist her, with Eleanor at her heels, while the coachman followed more slowly, bearing the box.

The rain was still falling, but it was doubtful whether either girl was sensible to the fact that her hair was heavy with dampness and her clothing and shoes were wet.