But a search of every pocket revealed nothing, and he sat back, and tried to think the thing out, tried to imagine what possible situation had brought Grace Kendall where she would send for him to help her. Stay! Was it Grace Kendall? Grace, Grace, was there any other Grace among his circle of friends? No, no one that claimed sufficient acquaintance to write a note like that. It certainly was queer. But they were out in the open country now, and speeding. The farmhouses were few and far apart. It was growing dusky; Carey could just see the hands of his watch, and he was getting nervous. Once he almost thought of shaking the driver and insisting on his turning around, for it had come over him that he should have left word with Miss Kendall’s people or called up before he left home. It wasn’t his way at all to do such a thing; but, still, with a girl like that—and, if anything serious was the matter, her father might not like it that he had taken it upon himself. As the car sped on through the radiant dusk, it seemed more and more strange that Grace Kendall after the afternoon service should have come away out here to visit a sick Sunday-school scholar, and his misgivings grew. Then suddenly at a cross-road just ahead an automobile appeared, standing by the roadside just at the crossings with no lights on. It seemed strange, no lights at that time of night. If it was an accident, they would have the lights on. It was still three-quarters of a mile to the Tavern. Perhaps some one had broken down and gone on for help. No, there was a man standing in the road, looking toward them. He was holding up his hand, and the driver was slowing down. Carey frowned. He had no time to waste. “We can’t stop to help them now,” he shouted. “Tell them we’ll come back in a few minutes, and bring some one to fix them up. I’ve got to get back right away. I’ve gotta date.” But the man paid no more heed to him than if he had been a June bug, and the car stopped at the cross-roads. Carey leaned out, and shouted: “What’s the matter? I haven’t time to stop now. We’ll send help back to you”; but the driver turned and motioned him to get out. “She’s in there. The lady’s in that car,” he said. “Better get out here. I ain’t goin’ no further, anyhow. I’m going home by the cross-roads. They’ll get you back,” motioning toward the other car. Carey, astonished, hardly knowing what to think, sprang out to investigate; and the driver threw in his clutch, and was off down the cross-road at once. Carey took a step toward the darkened car, calling, “Miss Kendall”; and a man with a cap drawn down over his eyes stepped out of the shadow, and threw open the car door. “Just step inside. You’ll find the lady in the back seat,” he said in a gruff voice that yet sounded vaguely familiar. Carey could dimly see a white face leaning against the curtain. He came near anxiously, and peered in, with one foot on the running-board.