continued to pat the hounds. She talked to them
as George climbed the wall and leaped down.
The dogs did not make a fuss. As soon as Bess’s
head appeared, however, they began to snarl.
“They’ll leave you alone if you don’t show any
fear,” Nancy assured her.
But it was impossible for Bess to do this. “Go
on without me,” she said after two vain attempts.
“I’ll wait in the car.”
“All right,” Nancy agreed, adding with a grin,
“Don’t eat up all the lunch while we’re gone!”
She and George set off. The dogs remained be-
hind. Soon the girls located the avenue of trees
which led to the loggia.
“Here’s a path that may go to the castle,”
Nancy said as they came to a forked trail.
“Maybe.” George smiled. “But here’s a sign
that reads To the Goblin Gallery.”
“Let’s see where it goes,” Nancy urged.
They passed a finely chiseled statuette in a wall
niche, lingered a moment to gaze at a rose garden
choked with weeds, then went on to a clearing.
Before them rose an artistic structure. The sides
were formed of slender twisted stone columns,
while sprawling over them was a roof of un-
trimmed vines supported by thick stalks.
“How pretty!” Nancy said dreamily.
George, surveying the gallery closely, remarked
practically, “It looks as if Father Time has taken
over here instead of the goblins. Those stone
columns might tumble down any minute.”
Remarking that she was amazed stone could be
damaged so greatly by weather, Nancy stooped
to inspect the base of one of the pillars. “George!”
she exclaimed suddenly. “Someone has deliber-
ately tampered with these columns. See the
marks? They’ve been weakened-probably with
a pickax!”
“Why would anyone do that?” George asked.
As the girls looked over the other columns,
Nancy told George about the note she had found
at the Heath button factory and the word* “in a
wall.”
“I’m sure someone is searching various walls of
that old building for an article of value,” she said.
“But why try to destroy these lovely columns?”
“Maybe the person didn’t find what he wanted
in the walls, and was looking in the columns.”
George was not listening attentively to her
friend. Instead, she was gazing down the path as
if transfixed.
“What do you see?” Nancy asked in a low voice.
George motioned toward the bushes. “It’s an
old man!” she whispered. “He’s pointing his fin-
ger at something ahead of us!”
Nancy was startled too when she saw the man
amid the heavy shrubbery. Her pulse quickened
as she moved toward the figure. Nearing it, she
laughed softly.
“Why, it’s only a life-size statue, George!”
Embarrassed, her friend went over to inspect
the figure.
“That pointing finger might have a special
significance,” Nancy said, noting the path ahead.
“Let’s see where this takes us.”
The trail had been nearly obliterated by weeds.
It twisted in and out among the trees and seemed
to lead nowhere. The girls were about to turn
back when Nancy caught a flash of water in sun-
light.
The girls made their way through the under-
growth and came out on the shore of a very large
pond dotted with rank grass. George hurried
ahead to look at it.
“Why do you suppose someone pointed the
statue to this? It doesn’t look like any-”
Her words ended in a little scream as the soft
bank beneath her feet gave way. Before Nancy
could grab her, George had slipped into the
water. It was not deep but she was soaked.
“Hypers! Look at me! I’m a mess!” George
cried out. “And say, this water is kind of salty.”
Nancy helped her friend scramble up the slip-
pery bank. She gazed about her and noticed a
stone house nearby. Apparently it once had been
used as a tool shed.
“Go in there and get out of your wet clothes,”
she advised George. “I’ll lay them in the sun.
They shouldn’t take long to dry.”
Quickly George ducked into the stone house.
She tossed her slacks, shirt, and sneakers through
an open window.
Nancy spread them on the bank in the sun,
then started walking around the pond. Suddenly