“Do you know of any adventures, schemes, he might have had in his head that would make him want to fool you, steal off without letting you know?” “No, but I wouldn’t. He didn’t tell me much. Boys don’t like their sisters interfering.” “When you saw him in his room did he say anything about Miss Saunders?” “Miss Saunders? No--he was talking about his trip. But what are you asking me all these questions for? If he didn’t go the way you thought what does it matter?” “_You’re_ sure he’s gone?” Rawson’s emphasis on the pronoun was heavy. She looked at him with startled eyes: “Yes, aren’t you? Why, you don’t think he’s _here_?” It was evident that she had not grasped the sinister aspect of Joe’s mysterious actions. It struck Bassett as odd, for he knew her intelligence and her anxious doubts of the boy. What she had been through, shock and lack of sleep, had blunted her perceptions. He prayed she would get through the interview without comprehending and he did not see how she could. “How could he be here?” she went on, that look of naive astonishment fastened on Rawson. “What for? And if he was--if he’d missed the boat or changed his mind--wouldn’t he be with us all, here among the rest of us? Of course he’s gone--he’s on his way to the woods now where he was going.” Rawson addressed Bassett: “Didn’t you tell me he was to stop to-night in Bangor and meet his friend?” “Yes--they were to start out in the morning.” “Where were they staying?” “Some hotel, I don’t know the name. Do you remember it, Anne?” She shook her head: “No. If he told me I’ve forgotten. I’ve no idea what it was.” “Hold on a minute,” said Williams, stretching out his hand. “Shine spoke to me about that. He was asking about a hotel in Bangor young Tracy recommended--the Algonquin Inn. That may be it.” Rawson swung the desk chair round and drew the telephone to him: “We can find out in a minute.” They sat without moving while Rawson made the connection. As he spoke the two men leaned forward, eagerly waiting, the girl drooped back in her chair, her hands in her lap, her glance on the floor. “Is there a Mr. Tracy there--Joe Tracy?” And then a period of listening, punctuated with grunts of assent from Rawson. Then, “Mr. Travers has gone--left on the six-fifteen this evening--I see.” A silent stretch and a final “Thanks--that’s all I wanted. Much obliged.” The receiver clicked into its hook, and Rawson swung the chair toward them: “Travers has been there waiting since last night. Tracy never showed up. Travers had no message from him and left this evening for Moosehead Lake.” For a moment there was no comment. Anne raised her eyes, the sides of the room looked a long way off and the light seemed to have intensified to a violent glare as if she were sitting in the midst of a dazzling illumination. The men’s faces were turned to her, glazed by the radiance like glistening masks.