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 the gods. And it was further complicated by the knowledge that the Hoodoo's mouth was open, and that the point of Miss Blue Blood's green umbrella might easily find a way through.

A-shiver with fear June tried to subdue her wild heart, while Miss Babraham, her father, Sir Arthur, and S. Gedge Antiques gathered round the Hoodoo. She hardly dared to breathe. The least sound would betray her. And in any case, one of the three had merely to stand on an adjacent coffin stool and peer over the top for the murder to be out.

The tragedy which June so clearly foresaw was not permitted to take place at once. Plainly the fates were inclined to toy with their victim for a while. Miss Blue Blood's laugh—how rich and deep it was!—rang in her ears and made them burn as she gave the Hoodoo a prod and cried out in her gay Miss-Banks-like manner, "Papa, I ask you, did you ever see anything quite like it?"

"By George, no!" laughed that connoisseur.

"It's such a glorious monster," said his enthusiastic daughter standing on tiptoe, "that one can't even see over the top."

"Puts one in mind," said Sir Arthur, "of the Arabian Nights and the Cave of the Forty Robbers."

"The long gallery at Homefield is the very place for it!"

"I wonder!" The connoisseur tapped the Hoodoo with his walking stick and turned to S. Gedge Antiques. "Do you happen to know where it came from?" he asked.

"From a Polynesian temple in the South Sea Islands, I believe, sir," said Uncle Si, glibly.