Inquiry at the fort elicited that Colonel Vedant had not returned, and no information regarding him could be gained from his quarters, the club, or any of his customary haunts. When Grail had gone through the entire list, and called up the post again, only to receive the same negative answer, he made no effort to conceal his growing anxiety. A suspicion of foul play strengthened in his mind. “If not that,” he asked, “why should the colonel, of his own accord, disappear in this absurdly mysterious manner? Colonel Vedant is not the sort of man to be waylaid or carried off without making at least a show of resistance, and I certainly heard no outcry or sound of a struggle. Did you?” Schilder shook his head. “No, no; there’s nothing in that,” he said impatiently. “How, please tell me, could such a scheme have been planned in advance, and put into effect, when we allow no strangers hanging around here under any pretext? But, overlooking all that,” he argued, “and even granting that the old gentleman might have been knocked out by the sudden, silent blow of a blackjack or sandbag, how was he so quickly spirited away? The lights were out hardly more than long enough for one to draw a deep breath--surely not a sufficient time to get farther than ten or twelve steps from the door. Is it possible that with all those yard lights going again, the colonel could have been dragged or carried the length of the inclosure, and none of the men at work out there have noticed it?” Grail made no immediate answer. He stepped to the door, and, leaning over, narrowly inspected the cinder-covered ground about the threshold. But no marks or footprints indicating a struggle rewarded his searching gaze; the surface was absolutely undisturbed. Then, all at once, he espied, a foot or two away, a small object. He glanced back over his shoulder, and, seeing that Schilder had turned to address a word of direction to the stenographer, reached out and quickly transferred it to his pocket. It was a half-smoked cigarette--a cigarette of dull-gray paper, with a peculiar long pasteboard mouthpiece. CHAPTER II. THE CLEW THAT FAILED. “There’s no need to keep you any longer, Miss Griffin,” Schilder said to the stenographer, as Grail came back toward him. “And--er--Miss Griffin, I guess it would be just as well if you didn’t mention this occurrence to any one on the outside. We want no unnecessary notoriety, eh, captain?” The adjutant agreed with him. “If you don’t mind, though, Mr. Schilder,” he said, “and if Miss Griffin will oblige me, I’d like to have her take down a note for me to Major Appleby. This matter ought to be reported to him at once, and I don’t like to use the telephone. It will be very brief, Miss Griffin,” he continued, turning to the girl. “You can take it direct on the machine. Only I will ask you to give me a carbon copy; we have to be very particular in the army in regard to all communications, you know.”