“If the main line was severed they may well have been carried out over the ocean. Particularly this would be true if these were the two lowest subsidiary kites.” “Hello! What’s this?” said Colton, looking up. Over the breast of the hill toward the Sound strolled a man. He wore the characteristic garb of the Montauk fishermen, and evidently was from the little colony on the north shore. Haynes walked forward to meet him, “G’-morning,” he said pleasantly. “Did you happen to see anything of a gentleman in a black suit an’ eye-glasses, wanderin’ absentmindedly about this part of the world?” “No,” said Haynes. “Have you lost such a one?” “Reckon he’s lost himself, Hain’t showed up since last evenin’. Just the kind o’ man to lose himself in open country. Sort o’ crank, always makin’ exper’ments.” “What kind of experiments?” “Foolish doin’s with kites, like a kid.” “Is he staying with you?” “Boardin’. Been there a week. Says he’s study-in’ air currents. Goes out in the evenin’s an’ puts up a lot o’ kites. I’ve seen him with as many as seven onto one string. He’s mighty smart at it.” “What time did he start out yesterday evening?” asked Haynes. “Long about ha’-past seven. Looked for him back when the wind dropped and come again so uneasy, just before that shower. But no Mr. Ely.” “Is that one of his kites?” asked the reporter, pointing to the broken rhomboid which he had laid in the long grass. “Certain, sure!” said the fisherman. “Where’d you find it?” “It came down near here. So did one of the others.” “That so?” said the fisherman, seeming somewhat concerned. “Hope he ain’t come to no harm.” While they were talking Professor Ravenden had been making a rapid calculation on a pad. “I believe that I can lead you approximately to the point whence these kites were flown,” he said. “Will you follow me?” For more than a mile the small and slight professor set them an astonishing pace. Presently he stopped short and picked up the end of a string at the foot of a small hillock. “This also seems to have been cut,” he said, and followed its course. Beyond the knoll was a hollow, and on the slope of this a small windlass. “That’s his’n!” cried the fisherman. “But where’s he?” Haynes walked over to a small oak patch beyond. For several yards in from the edge the shrubbery showed, by its bent twigs, the passage of a large body. Patches of cloth on the twigs told that a man had torn through in hot haste. On the soil underneath were footprints. But at the end of the path and the footprints was nothing. “Look here!” Haynes exclaimed. “He rushed in here to escape something. Here’s where the trail ends. You can see-” “My God! Come quick!” It was the fisherman on the other side of the oak patch. They ran around and found him bending over a body almost hidden in the edge of the thicket, where the scrub was low. “That’s Mr. Ely!” he cried. “He’s been murdered!”