“No.” Trafford nodded his satisfaction and proceeded to elucidate: “When the object was removed and the watcher knew it, he would repeat the search only to cover his identity. Shrewd as he was, he either wasn’t shrewd enough for that or was indifferent. He gave away the fact that he was some one who knew of the removal of the papers.” “Then you think these papers were what he was after?” “Most assuredly.” “And that the removal of them----” “Became Wing’s death warrant,” Trafford completed the sentence. McManus hesitated and grew pale. “My God, Trafford; do you see what that leads to?” “I see what you think it leads to. You think it leads to the conclusion that Wing was murdered by somebody in your office, somebody who has been there at least two years. I think that’s what you lawyers call a _non sequitur_.” “At the office, the papers might be stolen; here they could be stolen only after the murder of Wing. Why shouldn’t the thief be one and the same in both cases?” “Because many a man will steal where only one will commit murder. It is possible, of course, that the two may be the same. The probabilities, however, are against it.” “What follows then?” demanded McManus. “That the actor in at least one case, and possibly in both, was not the principal; and that the more there are engaged in the affair, the better chance we have of discovery. It is the one-man affair that baffles.” None the less, when McManus was gone, Trafford summed up the successes of three weeks and found them mortifyingly few. A package of papers missed and not found; an innocent man under suspicion; a woman of prominence proved the mother of an illegitimate child; a thwarted attempt upon his own life; a wounded Canadian apparently wiped off the earth; and a respectable citizen traced on a midnight visit to another respectable citizen at Waterville. It was not on such achievements as these that he had built his reputation. With the thought of the missing Canadian, his anxiety returned. It was impossible that he had been spirited away to Canada, yet it was undeniable that he was gone. He went out and looked at the river. After two weeks of dry weather the water was falling. On the edge of the falls, rocks showed that a week before were under water. In eddies and shallow places he could see, as with his physical eye, drift and débris collecting, and sometimes in this drift and débris strange matter was thrown up. He had hesitated to do it, but he felt that he had no right to hesitate longer, and so he gave directions for a careful search of the river banks and shallow places from Millbank to Pishon’s Ferry. It was the last chance, and he had refused to consider it until it would be criminal to refuse longer.