However, there is now one gain at least: with my semaphore I can send through the Blue Mountains from side to side, with expedition, secrecy, and exactness, a message comprehensible to all.
RUPERT'S JOURNAL--_Continued_.
_June_ 6, 1907.
Last night I had a new experience of my Lady of the Shroud--in so far as form was concerned, at any rate.

I was in bed, and just falling asleep, when I heard a queer kind of scratching at the glass door of the terrace.
I listened acutely, my heart beating hard.

The sound seemed to come from low down, close to the floor.

I jumped out of bed, ran to the window, and, pulling aside the heavy curtains, looked out.
The garden looked, as usual, ghostly in the moonlight, but there was not the faintest sign of movement anywhere, and no one was on or near the terrace.

I looked eagerly down to where the sound had seemed to come from.
There, just inside the glass door, as though it had been pushed under the door, lay a paper closely folded in several laps.