CHAPTER XXII. 

CAUGHT. 

"We're early," said Beth, as they came to the edge of the woods and sighted the farm house; "but that is better than being late." 

Then she stopped suddenly with a low cry and pointed to the right wing, which directly faced them. Bob West turned the corner of the house, tried the door of Uncle John's room, and then walked to one of the French windows. The sash was not fastened, so he deliberately opened it and stepped inside. 

"What shall we do?" gasped Patsy, clasping her hands excitedly. 

Beth was always cool in an emergency. 

"You creep up to the window, dear, and wait till you hear me open the inside door," said she. "I'll run through the house and enter from the living-room. The key is under the mat, you know." 

"But what can we do? Oughtn't we to wait until Uncle John and father come?" Patsy asked, in a trembling voice. 

"Of course not. West might rob the cupboard and be gone by that time. We've got to act promptly, Patsy; so don't be afraid." 

Without further words Beth ran around the back of the house and disappeared, while Patsy, trying to control the beating of her heart, stole softly over the lawn to the open window of Uncle John's room. 

She could not help looking in, at the risk of discovery. Bob West--tall, lean and composed as ever--was standing beside the cupboard, the doors of which were wide open. The outer doors were of wood, panelled and carved; the inner ones were plates of heavy steel, and in the lock that secured these latter doors were the keys that had so long been missing. Both were attached to a slender silver chain. 
To what?
the inner ones were plates of heavy steel, and in the lock that secured these latter doors were the keys