After making an appointment for three in the afternoon to examine papers, Trafford left the office and went to a little dingy room, in Gray’s Inn Lane, where he was joined almost immediately by a tall, seedy-looking man, evidently of Canadian stock, whose French was only a trifle worse than his English. He was a man whom few men would have trusted and whom Trafford had always found absolutely trustworthy. The man shook his head, with many a gestured negative. Not a man was missing from Little Canada; every man who was open to suspicion was accounted for, and not one of them showed a broken collar-bone or a shattered arm. “But there are other Canucks in town, outside Little Canada,” said Trafford. The report included all. The man had determined the whereabouts of every Canadian of sixteen years of age and upwards, and there was not one who bore marks of the blow delivered on the bridge the night before. “But he was a Canuck,” said Trafford, with positiveness that admits no question; “and it’s a bigger miracle than any of their relics ever performed before, if he don’t carry a broken bone to-day. There’s somebody missing.” The man shook his head. He had accounted for the last of them. “Do you think it was a dream or a nightmare?” Trafford demanded, with some asperity. The man shrugged and lifted his shoulders, in deprecation of the tone of the demand. “All right,” said Trafford at last. “Take the afternoon train to Augusta and resume your work there. I’ll give this personal attention.” The man hesitated a moment and then, coming close to him and lowering his voice, spoke rapidly and anxiously. “You are taking risks, Mr. Trafford. This is no ordinary case. You can’t tell what you’ve got against you. Two men can go safely where one can’t.” “And one can go safely sometimes where two are a danger. I’ve taken risks all my life--it’s my business to take ’em. You don’t suppose I chose this business because of its freedom from danger, do you?” “A brave man doesn’t court danger; he simply meets it bravely when it comes.” “Well, I’ll try to meet it that way if it comes. At present Millbank looks like a fairly safe place. I don’t think I’ll get my throat cut here.” “But you aren’t going to stay here,” the man urged. “You know you aren’t. You’re going----” “We’ll dispense with information as to where I’m going,” Trafford interrupted. “It’s probably safe to state, but it’s possibly not. We’ll keep on the absolutely safe side as long as possible. Your train leaves in fifteen minutes.” The gesticulating Canadian reappeared on the instant. Discipline asserted itself, and the man prepared to obey without further remonstrance. CHAPTER VIII A Man Disappears