“How do you suppose it ever got here?” cried Elaine in wonder.

“Must have fallen off the train,” I suggested.  “You might have collected the insurance under this new baggage law!”

“Jennings,” called Elaine.  “Get Patrick and carry the trunk in.”

Together the butler and the gardener dragged it off.

“Thank you,” said Elaine, endeavoring to pay the farmer.

“No, no, Miss,” he demurred as he clucked to his horses.

We waved to the old fellow.  As he started to drive away, he reached down into the basket and drew out some yellow harvest apples.  One at a time he tossed them to us as he lumbered off.

“Truly rural,” remarked a voice behind us.

It was Del Mar, all togged up and carrying a magazine in his hand.

We chatted a moment, then Elaine started to go into the house with
Aunt Josephine.  With Del Mar I followed.

As she went Elaine took a bite of the apple.  To her surprise it separated neatly into two hollow halves.  She looked inside.  There was a note.  Carefully she unfolded it and read.  Like the others, it was not written but printed in pencil: 

Be careful to unpack all your trunks yourself.  Destroy this note.- -A friend.

What did these mysterious warnings mean, she asked herself in amazement.  Somehow so far they had worked out all right.  She tore up the note and threw the pieces away.

Del Mar and I stopped for a moment to talk.  I did not notice that he was not listening to me, but was surreptitiously watching Elaine.

Elaine went into the house and we followed.  Del Mar, however, dropped just a bit behind and, as he came to the place where Elaine had thrown the pieces of paper, dropped his magazine.  He stooped to pick it up and gathered the pieces, then rejoined us.

“I hope you’ll excuse me,” said Elaine brightly.  “We’ve just arrived and I haven’t a thing unpacked.”

Del Mar bowed and Elaine left us.  Aunt Josephine followed shortly.  Del Mar and I sat down at a table.  As he talked he placed the magazine in his lap beneath the table, on his knees.  I could not see, but he was in reality secretly putting together the torn note which the farmer had thrown to Elaine.

Finally he managed to fit all the pieces.  A glance down was enough.  But his face betrayed nothing.  Still under the table, he swept the pieces into his pocket and rose.

“I’ll drop in when you are more settled,” he excused himself, strolling leisurely out again.

. . . . . . .

Up in the bedroom Elaine’s maid, Marie, had been unpacking.

“Well, what do you know about that?” she exclaimed as Jennings and Patrick came dragging in the banged-up trunk.

“Very queer,” remarked Jennings, detailing the little he had seen, while Patrick left.

The entrance of Elaine put an end to the interesting gossip and Marie started to open the trunk.