It was eight a. m. by the time Grail reached the fort, for he had stopped on the way to submit to a chemist an envelope containing the remnants of the decoy message. The chemist agreed with him thoroughly that its disintegration must have been accomplished by means of chemicals. He thought a mixture of certain acids, drying into the fiber of the paper, would cause it rapidly to disintegrate and crumble to dust, although he declined to commit himself definitely on the point until he had made a complete analysis. His theory, however, was all that Grail really cared for, since it showed him that he was on the right track, and that the destruction of the note was due to no accident or mischance, but was part of a deliberate and premeditated plan--an incident to be duly reckoned with in any investigation of the colonel’s disappearance. Too thoroughly did he recognize his own limitations even to consider the task of handling the business in person. But how was he to secure the aid he required at the fort? If the army post has ramparts of privacy against the world, there is little going on inside which does not become generally known, and Grail had no sooner set foot on the reservation than he sensed the same feeling of hostility and suspicion which had manifested itself in the manner of the officers who met him at the foundry the night before. The challenge of the sentinel on post, the side glances of the enlisted men, even the stiff salute of his own orderly, gave him to understand that he was ostracized--under the ban as much in barracks as along officers’ row. There was no open disrespect shown, but the very air was full of a silent disapproval. He evidently had not a friend in the place--no one upon whom he could call for help. Outwardly calm, but inwardly raging at the injustice, he turned in at headquarters--he would have starved rather than go over to the mess for breakfast--and, in order to conceal his perturbation, buried himself in the morning papers. Staring fixedly at the headlines in the Brantford _Bee_, although unconscious of a word, he was roused from his abstraction by a slight cough, and glanced up, to find standing in front of him Sergeant Cato, the relief telegraph operator, and a decidedly superior type of noncom. Indeed, Cato had ambitions toward winning shoulder straps for himself, and had been materially aided by Grail in his preparation for the necessary examination. There was no recognition of this now, however, in the stiff, distant salute which he gave his superior. “The list of messages sent out during the night, sir,” he said. Evidently, thought Grail, he was only to be addressed in the strict line of official duty. Even this man whom he had befriended reflected in his manner the general uncompromising spirit. Perfunctorily the adjutant took the slip handed him, and glanced at it. Then he gave a quick start.