“There is a bend in the road up yonder, Phil,” she said.

When they turned the bend in the tortuous mountain road, both drew up sharply, with a gasp of astonishment.  For a long time neither spoke, their bewildered minds struggling to comprehend the vast puzzle that confronted them.  Even the fagged horse pricked up his ears and looked ahead with interest.  Not three hundred yards beyond the bend stood the ruins of an enormous castle,

“It is Craneycrow!” gasped the man, leaning dizzily against the shaft of the trap.  She could only look at him in mute consternation.  It was Craneycrow, beyond all doubt, but what supernatural power had transferred it bodily from the squarrose hill on which it had stood for centuries, to the spot it now occupied, grim and almost grinning?  “Is this a dream, Dorothy?  Are we really back again?”

“I can’t believe it,” she murmured.  “We must be deceived by a strange resem—­”

“There is Bob himself!  Good heavens, this paralyzes me!  Hey, Bob!  Bob!”

A few minutes later a limping horse dragged his bones into the courtyard and two shame faced travelers stood before a taunting quartet, enduring their laughter, wincing under their jests, blushing like children when the shots went home.  For hours they had driven in a circle, rounding the great row of hills, at last coming to the very gate from which they had started forth so confidently.  They were tired and hungry and nervous.

“Did you telegraph your mother you were coming?” asked Dickey Savage.

“We did not even see a telegraph wire,” answered Dorothy, dismally.

“What did you see?” he asked, maliciously,

“You should not ask confusing questions, Richard,” reprimanded Lady Jane, with mock severity.

“Well, we’ll try it over again to-morrow,” decided Quentin, doggedly.

“Do you expect me to let you kill every horse I own?” demanded Lord Bob.  “They can’t stand these round-the-world pleasure trips every day, don’t you know.  Glad to oblige you, my boy, but I must be humane.”

That evening Father Bivot came to the castle, just as they were leaving the dinner table.  He brought startling news.  Not an hour before, while on his way from the nearest village, he had come upon a big party of men, quartered on the premises of a gardener down the valley.  It required but little effort on his part to discover that they were officers from the capital, and that they were looking for the place where Courant’s body was found.  The good Father also learned that detectives from Brussels were in the party, and that one of the men was a prince.  The eager listeners in Castle Craneycrow soon drew from the priest enough to convince them that Ugo was at the head of the expedition, and that it was a matter of but a few hours until he and his men would be knocking at the gates.

“The prince did not address me,” said Father Bivot, “but listened intently, as I now recall, to everything I said in response to the Luxemburg officer’s questions.  That person asked me if Lord Robert Saxondale owned a place in the valley, and I said that his lordship dwelt in Castle Craneycrow.  The men were very curious, and a tall Italian whispered questions to the officer, who put them to me roughly.  There was no harm in telling them that his lordship was here with a party of friends—­”