"I'm afraid I've got to hustle to make the train, Mr. Lord," he said, aloud, grasping the old man's hand. "You've been awfully good to me, and I do appreciate it, though I may not show it much. I'll write to you, and I hope you won't forget me. Don't come down. I'll just grab my bag and beat it. Thank you a thousand times for your hospitality, and if you ever come to New York, don't forget that you have my address. Good-bye. Good-bye"--and in the midst of Walter Lord's hearty farewells and invitations to come again, he was gone. CHAPTER XX PETER CLANCY CHANGES HIS PLANS-- And again, as Peter made his swift way to the station, the question which had been hammering in his brain took another form--"How much can I keep from telling Morris? How much can I keep to myself till I can think things out? It's absurd, Pete! It can't be, and yet--if--if----" And again: "How much can I keep from telling Morris?" The answer to the question which was uppermost in Peter's rapid thoughts was destined, within the next few minutes, to be influenced in a most unexpected manner. He had scarcely entered the little old smelly waiting room of the Hobart Falls station, when, at the sound of his footsteps on the bare boards, a man looked out of the little grated ticket-window, the same man who had replied to his inquiry as to telegrams on the previous evening. "There's a wire here for you now, if your name's Clancy, Peter Clancy," the agent said, turning back to refer to a yellow sheet of paper which lay beside the telegraph instrument. "That was the name you said last night, wasn't it? It's just come in, not five minutes ago. Night letter. Sign here, please." He slipped the telegram and a thumbed pad through below the grating, watching Peter curiously the while. Evidently the residents of Hobart Falls were not used to receiving night letters. Peter scrawled his name on the pad, and hastily catching up the telegram, he went swiftly over to the window. What had happened? What new complication---- The telegram was written out in the operator's none too legible hand. It was maddening, for, not very far away, Peter could hear his train, whistling for a crossing. And he wanted to get back to town--to talk to O'Malley--to think. Slowly, perforce, he puzzled out the unpunctuated sentences: Full story M. B. disappearance to-night's Earth devil to pay think F.J. must have spilled beans D.M. all broken up left for Fennimore Park private car with sister night train Fennimore Park near you report there for God's sake make him understand no leak this office (Signed) O'MALLEY.