“What garden door was locked? Who did it? Where was the key buried?” he exclaimed as if he were suddenly very much interested.

“It⁠—it was the garden Mr. Craven hates,” said Mary nervously. “He locked the door. No one⁠—no one knew where he buried the key.”

“What sort of a garden is it?” Colin persisted eagerly.

“No one has been allowed to go into it for ten years,” was Mary’s careful answer.

But it was too late to be careful. He was too much like herself. He too had had nothing to think about and the idea of a hidden garden attracted him as it had attracted her. He asked question after question. Where was it? Had she never looked for the door? Had she never asked the gardeners?

“They won’t talk about it,” said Mary. “I think they have been told not to answer questions.”