“Wait, Mr. Bassett,” Rawson raised a long commanding hand. “I hung round till the evening train came in; that’s the train Tracy was to take. I saw the conductor--it’s a small branch road and travel is light at that hour--and he remembered his passengers, two women and a child. Those were the only people who left Hayworth on the seven-fifteen, the last evening train. I went back to the village and made inquiries. Tracy had hired no vehicle at the garage or livery stable, nor had he been seen anywhere about the place. Then I got a car and went to White Beach. I was some time locating the old chap, but I finally ran him down. He said he had not taken Tracy across to the mainland last night.” Rawson dropped back in his chair. In answer to Bassett’s expression he nodded soberly: “Yes, it’s a pretty queer business. Gabriel said he’d told the boy to be on time; made it clear to him that he wouldn’t wait. When Tracy was not on the wharf he went to the house to look for him, saw his bag and fishing-rod in the doorway and took them. No one was about and he left--not sorry, I inferred from what he said, to give ‘the young cub’ as he called him, a lesson.” Bassett got up: “But it’s incomprehensible,” he exclaimed. “I can’t make head nor tail of it. No one ever questioned that he’d gone.” “No one said they’d seen him go but his sister,” came from Williams. Bassett wheeled on him: “Yes, you asked her. Didn’t she say she’d seen him?” “No.” Rawson’s voice was dryly quiet. “I’ve thought of that. What she said was that he went. In all fairness to her she probably thought so--took it for granted as you all did--that he’d gone.” “But why? What’s the meaning of it? If he’d missed the boat he’d have turned up, he’d be here now.” “Oh, he didn’t miss the boat,” said Rawson. “Well, then, what was he doing? What made him stay?” In the turmoil of his amazement, this sudden precipitation of a new mystery, Bassett had not yet grasped the sinister trend of the other’s thoughts. “Why,” said Rawson slowly, “he might have been staying for a purpose.” “What purpose?” “Can’t you imagine a purpose, Mr. Bassett?” “Good God, you don’t mean to say you think he _did it_?” “I’m not saying anything yet. But I’d like you to tell me how you explain it. He says he’s going, leads every one to think he’s going, makes all the preparations for his departure, then secretly, without divulging any change of plans, doesn’t go. Aren’t those actions--well to put it mildly--questionable?” “Yes--the whole thing’s inexplicable as we see it now.” “And note this. He had cause for anger against Miss Saunders--she’d given him away to you--and you yourself have told us that he had an ungovernable temper.” “He had a devilish temper and a damned mean disposition and I make no doubt he was blazing mad with her. But that he’d go to work to kill her in cold blood, lay in wait for her--no--you can’t make me think that.”