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"Nothing more can be done to-night," said Jen, gloomily. "The men have returned dead tired, but they have seen nothing and no one." "Yes, you do, too!" cried Judith ardently, flinging out a masterpiece. "You sound like a syncopated opera; doesn't she, Bruce?" Patricia gave an exclamation. "I believe I've seen her!" she cried. "She wears a long cloak and a hat with a big black plume, doesn't she? We noticed her at lunch and wondered what was the matter with her.".

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"Don't know," replied Patricia gayly. "Don't care, either. Whatever it is, I'm going into it tooth and nail. I'll show them that I'm on the turf even if I can't win a ribbon." Spread out on the cloth, the scraps pieced perfectly into the study that Elinor had made for the Roberts prize. The back showed the stamp of the Keystone tablet, with Judith's name partly erased and Doris' scribbled over it. "What do you think?" cried Patricia radiantly, swooping down on Elinor as she came slowly out of the portrait room at high noon on the momentous Tuesday. "What do you think, Elinor Kendall? I've gotten 'Honorable Mention' for my silly little old head! Isn't it wonderful? I'm so stunned I can't talk. I never dreamed it could have the ghost of a show," she rattled on ecstatically. "Miss Green was paralyzed, and Naskowski kept nodding till I thought he'd loosen his brain, and Griffin—she got first prize you know—cheered right out loud before them all. I was simply too limp for words, and I rushed out to tell you right away." "To shield the assassin?" gasped Jen, thunderstruck. "And who is the assassin?".