Presently the authorities who had been telephoned for arrived, and Potter and Hildegarde were lifted gently and carried away. In the haste and excitement the men who had brought them to the spot were not questioned, as they might have been in a city more accustomed to the handling of accidents. As the two inert bodies were carried away the motor-boat quietly moved away from the dock and headed down the river. No one thought to hold it. Presently it disappeared.... At the hospital Potter was quickly identified by the contents of his pockets. There was no clue to Hildegarde's identity. The news of the accident to his son was telephoned to Fabius Waite, and local correspondents of Detroit papers saw that the story went where it should go. In two hours city reporters were on hand, for the thing promised to be that desirable thing known to newspaper men as a "big story." The early editions carried brief accounts of the accident to Potter Waite and an unknown young woman.... Identification came later, and in the morning papers the names of Potter Waite and Hildegarde von Essen were coupled in a manner not likely to give satisfaction to the girl's father. Reporters set out to find the smashed aeroplane, but their search was futile. It was not found until noon next day, when a farmer on the shores of Baltimore Bay telephoned that it lay against a tree on his farm, near the shore. Reporters viewed it, and from its position were able to describe accurately how the thing had happened. "Must have been pickled again," was the consensus of their experienced opinion, and they did not hesitate in their accounts to impart this view to their public. Also the morning papers reported that Potter would not live through the day. Hildegarde was still unconscious, but hopes for her recovery were entertained by the surgeons in charge. Altogether it was looked upon as the inevitable--and fitting--termination of the reckless career of a vicious and depraved youth. It was an affair to be reveled in by the sensational press. They made an orgy of it. CHAPTER VI "Any news of Potter Waite to-day?" Tom Watts asked, as he dropped into a chair at the table which was regarded as the property of the crowd in the Pontchartrain bar. "No change," La Mothe said. "Still unconscious or something like that." "Anybody seen him? Any of the crowd been out to Mount Clemens?" asked Brick O'Mera. "No good. They wouldn't let anybody in. They say he just lies with his eyes half open. When you say he's alive that ends it. It's a matter of days, they say." "Seems like we ought to do something--this crowd he trained with," said O'Mera. "We'll get together and send him some bang-up flowers," said Randall. "One of those pillow things, or a horseshoe or something. Most likely they'll want us for pall-bearers." "I sent him a box of cigars and a book," said Kraemer, seriously.