“Not far,” Henley gruffly assured him. “It’s over the hill and down into the valley. There’s another path on t’other side of it, leading to a road running south.” “Toward Fordham, then.” “That’s what. Gordon must have known about the pond. ’Tain’t very big, but it’s as deep as a volcano. The devil himself couldn’t raise a corpse sunk to the bottom of it. Gordon knew that, mebbe.” “Quite likely, Henley, since he evidently wanted to get rid of the girl,” Nick allowed. “That’s how it looks to me. Bear off this way, sir.” Henley strode away to the left and plunged through the bushes and underbrush, Nick following, with Ginger bringing up in the rear. Ten minutes brought them in sight of the pond, shut in on all sides by a thick belt of woods, and Nick followed his uncouth guide down to the edge of it and to the spot he was seeking, a lonely and suitable place enough for such a crime as superficially appeared to have been committed. “Here’s the spot,” cried Henley, pointing to some trampled shrubs and underbrush. “There’s the log where Ginger nosed out the girl’s hat and jacket. They were rolled up and thrust under it, then partly covered with dirt and leaves.” “Yes, yes, I see.” “Here’s blood on the bushes, and footprints in the ground and dry leaves, as if the girl put up a fight to save herself from----” “Stop a moment,” said Nick, intently viewing the evidence mentioned. “I want to compare these shoes with the imprints.” “Gordon’s shoes?” “Yes. The button boots belong to the girl. She left them in a house where she has been boarding.” “You went there after them?” questioned Henley, with sinister scrutiny. “Yes, certainly,” said Nick, without looking up. “By Jove, they correspond perfectly, Henley. There’s no question about it.” Nick was comparing both pieces of footwear with several impressions found in the damp earth. There was, as he had stated, no question as to the correspondence in size and shape, which was further evidence of who had been there the previous evening. “It looks bad, bad enough,” he added, after viewing the blood-spattered bushes, the rough ground on all sides, and seeking vainly for evidence showing in which direction Gordon had departed. “You have made no search for the girl’s body, Henley, you said.” “What’s the use?” Henley asked, with a growl. “A hundred to one it’s at the bottom of the pond.” “Very likely,” admitted Nick, with seeming uncertainty as to what course to take. “Gordon wouldn’t have waited to bury it.” “True again,” Nick allowed. “If we only knew in which direction he went----” “We can find that out easy enough,” Henley interrupted, with eyes gleaming for an instant. “How so?” asked Nick, though he had expected and been only waiting for these suggestions. “How can we contrive to trace him?” “Leave it to Ginger.” “You mean----”