It was a most astounding turn in affairs. For a few moments they were overcome. What could it mean? It was easy to assume that Van had deserted the team. But where and why? Where was he now? It seemed an altogether foolish thing for him to desert the horse and sleigh to go afoot such a wild night. No man could hope to live long in such a storm. Yet it seemed that he had done this very thing. The closest inquiries by the detectives revealed nothing more. The farmer’s boys could vouchsafe no further information. The detectives were obliged to be satisfied with it. Wherever Van was, nothing could be done to secure him that night. He might be freezing somewhere in the snow. However this might be, the Bradys knew that they could only make themselves comfortable for the night and wait for the morrow. So they went into the farm house. A cheery fire blazed on the hearth. John Paine, the farmer, and his wife welcomed the detectives. They were given seats by the fire and the housewife hustled about to get them something to eat. The Bradys were soon toasting their frigid feet by the fire and listening to John Paine’s homely talk. “I reckoned it ud be a pow’ful hard winter,” he said. “Everything p’inted that way.” “How far are you from the next house?” asked Old King Brady. “Summut of a mile, I reckon.” “What is it, a farm house like this?” John Paine screwed up his mouth. “I reckon ye’re strangers about yere,” he said. “We are.” “Bekase if ye warn’t ye’d never ax that question. Why, the next _house_ ain’t a _house_ at all. It’s a mad-house!” “A mad-house?” “Yes, some people call it a ’sylum.” “Oh, yes; a private asylum!” “I reckon so. It’s private enuff. Old Doctor Scraggs who keeps it has about four of ther wust dogs in this kentry. Nobody dares to go about there arter dark.” The detectives were doing some deep thinking. Private asylums were not uncommon in any part of the country. They wondered if there could be any connection between Van’s disappearance and the asylum. For a long while they pondered over it. Then Old King Brady asked: “I say, my friend! Have you any snowshoes?” “Sartin!” replied Paine. “But ye ain’t goin’ out to-night?” “I have a desire to visit that asylum,” said the detective. “Wait till ter-morrer. We’ll break the road out airly.” “Oh, I don’t mind the storm.” At this moment one of the farm boys came in with a stamp of his feet. “I say!” he cried. “It’s all breaking away an’ the moon is coming out.” “Sho!” cried the farmer. “You don’t say so?” “That settles it!” cried Old King Brady. “We’ll take a trip on snowshoes, anyway!” The farmer made no further demur. For himself he couldn’t see the sense of it. “But city folks does hev queer ways,” he remarked to his wife. Two pairs of snowshoes were brought out. The Bradys first indulged in a hearty meal as prepared by the good housewife. Then they sallied forth.