Enter these enchanted woods, You who dare. Nothing harms beneath the leaves More than waves a swimmer cleaves. Toss your heart up with the lark, Foot at peace with mouse and worm, Fair you fare. Only at a dread of dark Quaver, and they quit their form; Thousand eyeballs under hoods Have you by the hair. Enter these enchanted woods, You who dare. It was clear. I must toss my heart up with the lark to fare fairly, even though my pain was great. Late that afternoon; Dibdin returned, bringing Sergeant Cullum. That excellent policeman gave me more hope than any one, excepting my own heart, had yet succeeded in doing. He insisted upon being made privy to all the circumstances, to which he listened, his broad shaven face turned ceilingward, with the rapt air of a mystic, expecting momentarily that lightning flash of inspiration that would reveal all. Then he asked to be allowed to wander by himself throughout the house, over which he went pointing and sniffing like some well-trained hound. In the end he declared himself satisfied. "Now give me a little time," he said. "But what means—how do you go to work?" I asked, nettled that he should see possibilities regarding Alicia that I had overlooked. "I swear, Mr. Byrd, I don’t know," he answered reverently. "I wait for guidance." "Guidance?" I faltered. "Yes—from on high." "You depend on that—only?" "Only!—Well, yes and no. I pray, Mr. Byrd—I pray." "You have no other means?" I queried, with a sinking heart. "What other means are there," he demanded with glowing eyes, "that the Lord can’t supply? What detective in the world can equal the Lord—tell me that, Mr. Byrd." I saw that I was in the presence of a fanatic and I stood abashed. "The best man in the Department," Dibdin put in encouragingly. "Sergeant Cullum _is_ the bureau of missing persons." "Give me a little time," he urged again, with the fervid intensity of prayer—Time! And it was Alicia who was missing! I shook his hand and gave him time and parted from him with a hope that I should not have to wait for his ecstatic visions to restore her. "He’ll find her!" Dibdin exclaimed reassuringly. "Never fear. If there is one thing I’ve learned, it’s to accept the methods of people so long as they produce the results. Let them use the divining rod if they want to, or incantations with henbane and hellebore, or trances and visions, or prayer. This almost human race of ours is made up of some very odd fish," he added with a laugh, and he looked at me quizzically as though I were the oddest fish of them all. "But an ecstatic policeman"—I murmured— "Yes—queer—I know," said Dibdin, "but I don’t care. And now, old boy, I’ve got to run back to the museum and take a squint at the work. Cheer up." I was alone in my study after a pretense of eating supper with the children, when Jimmie burst in and flung himself upon me.