Returning to the living room, I told them what the chief had said, and Carter tried to figure out where we might be going. He said there were any number of small lakes in the near-by mountains which were as inaccessible as though they were hundreds of miles away. Some of these lakes were camping spots, and many of them did not have even a telephone. He followed me out to the car to remind me that it might not be a bad idea for me to take my chains along. Then as he wished me good-by, I drove out of the yard. The police station was a small squatty brick building, set directly back of a white church. I stopped at the curb and, climbing down, went through the open door into the large room within. Behind a desk, with his feet higher than his head, was a policeman reading a newspaper. He dropped the paper long enough to ask me what I wanted. At my request for the chief, he motioned to a door at the left and then went back to his reading. Walking across the floor, I pushed open the door and passed into the next room. Evidently it was the private office of the chief. A small room with two chairs and a desk for furniture. Upon the walls were several gaudy calendars and two or three placards announcing a reward for various wanted men. At the desk, busily engaged in looking over a large scale map, was the chief. He motioned to the other chair, and as I pulled it up to the desk, he started to thank me for my willingness to go with him. As my eyes dropped to the map, he saw my glance and, pushing back his chair, said: “Well, I think maybe I have got hold of a good tip about that girl. I got hold of the young law student she goes around with. He said that he saw her about half-past four the afternoon of the murder.” “He did!” was my comment. “Yep, he did,” was the retort. “And he saw her again at five. She was climbing into the old Ford which belongs to the camp at Lake Pleasant. That's a small girls' camp over Bald Mountain. It's twenty-five miles from here, and about as bad a road as you can find. Once a week the Ford comes into town for provisions and the mail.” A twenty-five-mile ride over a bad road did not appear very pleasing. I asked the chief why he did not telephone and see if the girl was there. “For the simple reason there is no telephone in camp. The nearest one is over five miles away, on the side of another hill. Besides I had an idea it might be best to see the girl ourselves. The young man said she was in the Ford when it went out of town. And if she was, then she must be at the camp.”