One thing they knew. The road’s chief dispatcher and detective were absent. From an absence to a disappearance is but a step, and it was with a certain satisfaction that they played up this feature of the case. At least, they would get even with West for trying to keep the news away from them. They described his career, his appearance, dwelt upon Stanley’s well-known prowess and fearlessness, and drew the conclusion that something extraordinary must have occurred to get the best of him. It made a good story, and the public read and was interested and mystified and wondered languidly how it would all turn out—and passed on to the next sensation. But in one home, at least, as the weary hours of the night wore on, there was something more than languid interest and wonder. From her snowy bed, Mamie Welsh lay staring up into the darkness, her face flushed and feverish, her eyes red with weeping, striving to suppress the sobs which shook her, so that her mother might not hear and understand. For she knew, by a sort of clairvoyance, as though his spirit called through space to hers, that Allan West lay somewhere in great peril. * * * * * It was dark when Allan struggled back to consciousness,—not dark in the ordinary sense, but pitch dark,—a blackness that oppressed and chilled with the sense of some unknown and unspeakable peril. He lay for a long time without moving, without thinking, just conscious in a dim way that he existed. Gradually he became aware of an all-pervading pain, which finally resolved into an aching head and an aching shoulder and cramped legs and arms. Then, in a flash, life surged in on him and he remembered the old stone house, the barn, the shadow, the blow which he had tried to avoid. He struggled to get to his feet, only to fall back with a groan of anguish; for his hands were tied behind him and his feet were lashed together. Even had he been free, his whirling, aching head would have chained him down. But his head grew clearer after a while and he could think connectedly. Where was he? Not in the barn, that was certain, for he could feel beneath him a floor of boards, instead of the wet and clammy dirt upon which he had fallen. In the house, then—his unknown assailant had carried him into the house, tied him hand and foot and left him. For what purpose?