Their search along the roadside was fruitless, and Douglas and Brett returned to the Secretary of State's limousine. They had to wait some time before the flames about the remains of Thornton's car died down into a smoldering mass. After the fire had burned itself out, Brett, with the assistance of horror-stricken spectators among the crowd that had collected with the Aladdin-like magic which characterizes street gatherings, examined the ground with minute care. Suddenly he moved over to where Douglas was standing, keeping back the curious crowd, and beckoned him to one side. "Colonel Thornton did not jump from the car, Mr. Hunter," he said gravely. "We've just found all that's left of him--his ashes." CHAPTER XXIII THE END OF THE QUEST "And so that was his end!" Eleanor drew a long, shuddering breath. "Poor Uncle Dana! Douglas, do you really think he was guilty?" "I'm afraid so," sorrowfully. "The very fact that he was trying to escape proves it; otherwise he would have stayed here and faced an investigation." "It's dreadful, dreadful!" moaned Eleanor. "And almost unbelievable. A traitor! A murderer! But"--checking herself--"that last hasn't been proved." "That's Brett's voice," exclaimed Douglas, springing from his chair and crossing to the hall door. "Come in, Brett; Miss Thornton and I are sitting in the library." The detective gave his hat and light overcoat to Nicodemus and followed Douglas back into the room, first closing the door carefully behind him. "Has Captain Lane been here yet?" he inquired. "Yes, he came over at once on being released. Mrs. Truxton took him upstairs to see Cynthia, who is rapidly improving, now that the mystery of Senator Carew's death is solved and Fred cleared of any complicity in it," explained Eleanor. "Then would you mind asking Captain Lane to come down, Miss Thornton? I have several pieces of news which I must tell you, and I think his presence is necessary." Eleanor looked at him questioningly, and he added hastily, "He won't be involved in any further trouble." "What tragedies have happened since I reached this house twenty-four hours ago," exclaimed Douglas, pacing the room restlessly. "Annette's death last night, and now the Colonel----" He did not finish his sentence, but instead stopped before the full-length portrait of a dead and gone Thornton, and gazed moodily at the painted face. From that gallant naval hero to Dana Thornton, traitor, was indeed a great descent. "A good man gone wrong," he commented, finally. "An accomplished scoundrel," growled Brett. He stopped speaking as Eleanor reëntered the room, followed by Fred Lane. The young officer showed the ordeal he had gone through that morning and afternoon by the deep lines under his eyes and around his mouth. He bowed curtly to Douglas and Brett. "You wish to see me?" he asked.