Eleven o'clock that night found Castle Craneycrow wrapped in the stillness of death. Its inmates were awake, but they were petrified, paralyzed by the discovery that Dorothy Garrison was gone. Scared eyes looked upon white faces, and there was upon the heart of each the clutch of an icy hand. So appalling was the sensation that the five conspirators breathed not nor spoke, but listened for the heartbeats that had stopped when fears finally gave way to complete conviction. They were as if recovering from the fright of seeing a ghost; spirits seemed to have swept past them with cold wings, carrying off the prisoner they thought secure; only supernatural forces could be charged with the penetration of their impregnable wall. The discovery of the prisoner's flight was not made until Baker knocked on Lady Saxondale's door and inquired for Miss Garrison at bedtime. Then it was recalled that she had left the others at nine o'clock, pleading a headache, but she did not go to her room. Investigation revealed the fact that her jewelry, a cape and a traveling hat were missing. Remembering her first attempt to escape and recalling the very apparent nervousness that marked her demeanor during the day, Lady Saxondale alarmed the house. Ten minutes later the conspirators and a knot of sleepy servants stood in the courtyard, staring at the great gate. It was closed but unlocked. There were but two known keys to the big lock, and since the arrival of the party at the castle they had not been out of Lord Saxondale's possession. The girl could not have used either of them and the lock had not been forced; what wonder, then, that in the first moments of bewilderment they shrank back as if opposed by the supernatural? No one present had seen her leave the castle, and there was no way of telling how long she had been gone, except that it was not longer than two hours. After the first shock of realization, however, the men came to the conclusion that assistance had come from the outside, or that there was a traitor on the inside. They were excitedly questioning the long-trusted servants when Lady Jane made a second discovery. “Where is Turk?” she cried, and every eye swept through the group. “Gone, by God!” exclaimed Quentin, in helpless amazement. No one had given thought to his illness in the excitement of the moment. He had been called forth with the rest, and when he coughed not even he took note of the fact. This was no time to think of colds and fevers and such a trifling thing as death. He shivered, but it was not with the chill of a sick man; it was the shiver of fear. “Good Lord, he can't be the one! Turk would die for me!” he cried, almost piteously. “He is gone, and so is she,” grated Lord Bob. “What are we to infer? He has sold us out, Quentin; that's the truth of it.” “I'm damned!” almost wept Dickey Savage. “They'll have a pack of officers here before morning. I don't give a hoot for myself, but Lady Saxondale and--”