Mr. Emerson took it and tugged away with the top.

“It’s coming, it’s coming,” his muffled cry rose from the depths.

Another tug and a blackened leather pouch, slashed with a jagged tear from which gold pieces were pouring, tumbled into the room.

“Pick it all up and put it on the table, Roger, while Mr. Schuler and I decide how it happened,” ordered Mr. Emerson.

The investigation seemed to prove that there probably had been a crack in the bricks at the back of the mantel at the time when Algernon Merriam, Miss Gertrude’s ancestor, had thrust the bag into the mantel cupboard.  It had fallen off the back of the shelf and into the little crevasse where it lay beyond the reach of arm or bent wire or candle light for over a hundred and thirty years.

“Evidently last night’s big shaking widened the crack and let the bag fall down.  The ragged edge of a broken brick tore the leather and the two coins that Vladimir and Elisabeth found slipped out and fell just inside the plank covering of the chimney and below it out on to the floor.”

“So did the two that fell out when we were working,” added Roger.

“Let’s open it and count the money.  This may be some other bag,” suggested Helen, who had brought back no farther information from the Russian.  “If it’s Algernon’s it ought to have—­how many guineas was it?”

“Five hundred and seventy-three, and a ring and a miniature,” continued Ethel Brown who had heard his story.

“In a box,” concluded Ethel Blue.  “I can’t wait for Roger to undo it!”

They gathered around the table on which Roger had placed the stained bag, the gold coins gleaming through a gash in its side.  Moya cleaned the outside as well as she could with a damp cloth.

“See, here are some crumbs of sealing-wax still clinging to the cord,” and Grandfather Emerson cut the string that still tied the mouth.  Before their amazed eyes there rolled first a small box and then guineas as bright as when they were tied up in their prison.

“We shan’t have to count the guineas; if the ring and the miniature are in the box that will prove that it’s Algernon’s bag,” said Helen.

“Here, young woman; hands off,” cried her grandfather as Helen was preparing to open the box.  “Algernon and Patience were no direct ancestors of yours.  Miss Merriam is the suitable person to perform this ceremony.”

Helen, smiling, pushed the basket toward Miss Gertrude who slipped off the string with trembling fingers.

“I’m almost afraid to take off the cover,” she whispered.

“O, do hurry up, Miss Gertrude,” implored Ethel Brown.  “I think I shall burst if I don’t know all about it soon!”

With misty eyes Gertrude slowly lifted the cover from the box.  Wrapped in a twist of cotton was a ring set with several large diamonds.

“Is it marked ’Gertrude’?” asked Dorothy breathlessly.