“You haven’t been very helpful,” said the old gypsy. “We’ll question you again tomorrow, and if you are more helpful, you shall have your dog.”

Two men took the girls away from the fire and over to the hill. A large opening led into the queer hill. One of the men had a lantern and led the way, the other man walking behind.

A passage led straight into the hill. There was sand underfoot, and it seemed to Anne as if even the walls were made of sand. How strange!

The hill was honeycombed with passages. They criss-crossed and forked like burrows in a rabbit-warren. Anne wondered however the men could find their way!

They came at last to a cave that must have been right in the heart of the hill, a cave with a sandy floor, and a post that was driven deeply into the ground.

Ropes were fastened firmly to it. The two girls looked at them in dismay. Surely they were not going to be tied up like prisoners!

But they were! The ropes were fastened firmly round their waists and knotted at the back. The knots were gypsy knots, firm, tight and complicated. It would take the girls hours to unpick those, even supposing they could manage to reach right round to their backs!

“There you are,” said the men, grinning at the two angry girls. “Maybe in the morning you will remember where those packets were put.”

“You go and get my dog,” ordered George. But they only laughed loudly and went out of the cave.

It was stuffy and hot in there. George was worried to death about Timmy, but Anne was almost too tired to think.

She fell asleep, sitting up uncomfortably with the ropes round her waist, and the knots digging into her back. George sat brooding. Timmy - where was he? Was he badly hurt? George was very miserable indeed.

She didn’t go to sleep. She sat there, worrying, wide awake. She made an attempt to get at the knots behind her, but it was no use, she couldn’t.

Suddenly she thought she heard a noise. Was that someone creeping up the passage to the cave? She felt frightened. Oh, if only Timmy were here!

Sniff! Sniff!

“Gracious goodness, it must be Sniffer!” thought George, and at that moment she almost loved the dirty little gypsy boy!

“Sniffer!” she called quietly, and put on her torch. Sniffer’s head appeared and then his body. He was crawling quietly up the passage on all fours.

He came right into the cave, and stared at her and the sleeping Anne. “I’ve sometimes been tied up here too,” he said.

“Sniffer, how is Timmy?” asked George, anxiously. “Tell me, quickly!”

“He’s all right,” said Sniffer. “He’s just got a bad cut on his head. I bathed it for him. He’s tied up too, and he’s mad about it!”

“Sniffer, listen, go and get Timmy and bring him to me,” said George, breathlessly. “And bring me a knife too, to cut these ropes. Will you? Can you?”