As they crossed the stile leading to the path across the fields, they heard a dog crying pitifully. Alan, always tender-hearted towards dumb animals, stopped and looked round. Again came the mournful cry. “I think it must be across the way,” said Desmond. Alan crossed the road, and then called out to his cousin. “It’s Slater’s pup”—he bent over it closely—“Why its leg is broken and its fur is singed,” he added in an awe-struck tone. A rustling sounded behind him—an intense heat that nearly stifled him; he heard a sudden shriek—a groan. Once more the “Light” had found its prey. Alan was alone! * * * * * “_Come at once. Something terrible has happened to Dez. Don’t delay. Alan._” Such was the telegram that Sir John Forsyth received upon arriving at his office the day after Desmond’s disappearance. The two boys had kept him fully posted with all the news at Marshfielden. But as he always prided himself upon his strong common sense, he laughed with the boys at the suggestion that the “Curse” was responsible for the strange happenings in the little Derbyshire village. His face blanched as he read the message, and instinctively he thought of the “Curse,” yet put the thought aside as quickly as it came. Masters, his confidential secretary, almost friend, looked at him pityingly. “I am going to Marshfielden,” announced Sir John. “Shall I come with you?” asked Masters. “Yes, Masters, I shall need you.” “An express leaves for Derby in half an hour,” went on Masters. “If we book there, I can ’phone through for a car to meet us and motor us direct to Grimland.” “Yes! Yes! You arrange,” and Sir John, who had grown as many years old as minutes had passed since he had had the news, sat with his teeth chattering and his limbs trembling. “A motor car will be waiting for us at Derby,” announced Masters as they took their seats in the train. At last the whistle sounded, the flag waved, and the great engine snorted violently as it left the station. Sir John, in his anguish of mind, was unable to sit still; up and down the corridor he walked until the passengers began to pity his white, strained face, and wondered what his trouble could be. Derby at last! Then followed a mad ride to Grimland. Alan was awaiting his Uncle at the pit head; he had not attempted to go to bed since the “Light” had taken Desmond from his side. Silently they gripped hands, and Sir John entered the little office and heard the whole story. Alan wound up by saying, “Even as I tell the story, it seems almost incredible. As I turned round I saw Desmond in mid-air, with, it seemed, a fiery wire about him—and as I looked he vanished from sight.” Sir John was determined not to look upon it as witchcraft. “It’s man’s devilry, I’ll be bound,” said he. “I’ll swear it’s not supernatural. Get all the scientists down—let them make investigations. I’ll pay handsomely, but discover the secret I will.”