They made good speed to the lake, and examined its western shore without making any discovery. Spreading out, they scouted carefully, and had gone perhaps fifty yards, studying the ground for possible signs, when Dick Colton, who was in the middle, gave a shout and began to exhibit signs of strangulation. The others ran to him, and he turned a suffused and twitching face toward them, pointing to an oak patch near by. “Excuse me,” he gasped; “but look at that!” Tangled in the patch was the dilapidated ruin of a large kite of the Malay or tailless type. Most of the paper had blown away, but what remained was of an oily finish, and exhaled a slight odour. Professor Ravenden looked at it carefully, and an expression of deep humiliation overspread his mild face. “I do not resent your amusement, Dr. Colton,” he said. “To you gentlemen I must seem, as indeed I do to myself, an unworthy and fearful disciple of science.” “Not in the least,” said Haynes quickly. “Your experience was enough to frighten anyone.” “I should have run like a rabbit,” declared Colton positively. “I laughed because it seemed such a ridiculous ending to my own forebodings.” “Perhaps it isn’t entirely ridiculous either,” said Haynes, who had been examining the kite cord, slowly. “There’s something queer about this. Where did those kites come from, and how?” “Broke away, of course,” said Dick. “Supposing you try to break that string. You’re a husky specimen.” “Can’t do it,” said the doctor, after exerting his strength. “It’s the finest kind of light braided line.” “And it hasn’t been broken, in my opinion,” said the reporter. “Look at those ends.” “Cut! Clean cut!” exclaimed Colton. “And within twenty feet of the bellyband,” added Haynes. “Now, if someone will kindly explain to me how—” “This kite,” said the professor, who had been studying it, “is, if I mistake not, one of a string such as are used for aerostatic experiments. The oiled paper is for rain-shedding purposes. It is a subsidiary kite, used to raise the slack of the main line. Therefore the string has not parted at the point of greatest tension.” “And it’s as badly crumpled up,” added Colton, “as if it had collided with a brick block.” “Its mate ought to have drifted to the opposite shore of the lake,” said Haynes. “I’ll go look.” Presently he returned with the second kite. It was twin in size and type to the first. The skeleton was intact, though the paper showed signs of its rough trip across the ground before it reached the lake. “About sixty feet of string left on this one,” said the reporter. “Cut clean, just like the other.” He laughed nervously. “Begins to look pretty interesting, doesn’t it?” “How many kites do you think there were in the string?” Colton asked the professor. “Seven is by no means an unusual number in experiments of this nature.” “Then where are the rest?”