He went up to the door and opened it. Inside, the place was almost dark. There

were one or two rustic seats, a croquet set, and some folded deck-chairs.

 

I was startled to observe my new friend. He had dropped to his hands and knees

and was crawling about the floor. Every now and then he shook his head as though

not satisfied. Finally, he sat back on his heels.

 

“Nothing,” he murmured. “Well, perhaps it was not to be expected. But it would

have meant so much——”

 

He broke off, stiffening all over. Then he stretched out his hand to one of the

rustic chairs. He detached something from one side of it.

 

“What is it?” I cried. “What have you found?”

 

He smiled, unclosing his hand so that I should see what lay in the palm of it. A

scrap of stiff white cambric.

 

I took it from him, looked at it curiously, and then handed it back.

 

“What do you make of it, eh, my friend?” he asked, eyeing me keenly.

 

“A scrap torn from a handkerchief,” I suggested, shrugging my shoulders.