If Nick Carter had wanted further evidence of Henley’s complicity in the knavish game that was being played, these last statements would have convinced him of it, in view of his own discoveries and deductions. He did not betray his suspicions, but pretended to have entire confidence in the rascal, interrogating him along much the same lines until Danny brought the car to a stop at the crossroad. Nick was the first to alight, followed by Henley and the hound, while Patsy paused to question: “Am I to go with you, chief?” Nick hesitated for a moment, as if he had given this matter no previous thought, and he then said abruptly: “No, you’ll not be needed. Henley and I can look over the ground and accomplish all that can be done.” “Sure we can,” put in Henley, with ill-concealed eagerness. “You return with Danny, Patsy, and keep an eye on those things in the library. There is a bare possibility that some one will try to destroy them, in case our suspicions are known.” “That’s right, too,” Patsy quickly agreed. “I thought you were taking a chance, chief, in leaving them there.” “You return and look after them,” Nick repeated decidedly. “I’ll hoof it back with Henley after making an investigation. He won’t mind the tramp.” “Mind it be hanged!” cried Henley. “Tramping round these diggings is the most that I do.” “That settles it, then,” said Nick. “Back into the crossroad to make a turn, Danny, and wait for us at Gordon’s place.” “I’ve got you, chief,” nodded Patsy. “We’ll keep an eye on things.” Nick did not hasten his departure with Henley. He waited until Danny had turned the touring car, then watched it speed away with both of his assistants, till it vanished around a near bend in the road. Henley stood silently watching him, with his shotgun under his arm. There was a gleam of secret satisfaction deep down in his shifty eyes, an ominous curve in his thin-lipped mouth. Both vanished instantly, however, when Nick turned and said: “Now, Henley, it’s up to you.” “I’ll make good, all right,” was the reply, with a covert significance the detective was quick to notice. “Lead the way, then.” “I’ll soon show you, Mr. Carter,” Henley added, with the same sinister significance. “Come on, Ginger. He’s some dog, Carter, some dog. Ginger can’t be beat.” Nick did not reply. He followed the swarthy ruffian over the rough crossroad, stopping at intervals to study the ground, stating that he wanted to examine the footprints of the missing couple, if any could be found. He delayed frequently in this way--but with an entirely different object in view. Twenty minutes brought them to a path through the woodland, into which Henley struck without hesitation, remarking grimly: “They must have gone this way. It was on this side of the pond that Ginger nosed out the bloodstained togs.” “How far is the pond from here?” Nick inquired, following him.