the time will come, and I can wait, my beautiful Dorothy!"
Campbell Crosby was a tall man, of fine physique and bearing. And as he stood calmly looking down at little Dorothy, he gave an impression of splendid power, and the girl looked at him with a new admiration. She liked a masterful man, and, though she had never taken any special interest in Campbell Crosby, she suddenly realized that he was a worthwhile man. But then the thought of Ernest Chapin returned to her, and she knew that, compared to him, all other men were as nothing to her.
"Campbell," she said, sending a thrill through him as he heard her pronounce his name, "you mustn't talk to me like that. I forbid it!"
But as the forbidding was accompanied by a snowflake of a hand laid lightly on his arm, it wasn't absolutely successful.
Crosby laid his own hand over hers. "Well, haven't I just said I won't? Or, at least,—that I will wait. Now, how do you want me to talk to you?"
"Oh, any way, just to pass the time till the others come down."
"And I'm simply a stop-gap, am I! Very well, I'm content; but I warn you I shall make the most of my time!"
"What are you going to do?" and Dorothy looked at him provokingly.
"Hold your hand, for one thing," and Crosby clasped it in both of his. "And then, if I can get a real good chance, when no one is looking I—may—kiss—"
"Mr. Crosby!"
"—may kiss your finger tips," went on Crosby, calmly.
"Oh!" and naughty Dorothy looked purposely disappointed. She smiled at him, and the red lips so near his own, and the soft faint perfume of her hair made his senses reel, and catching her in his arms he kissed her madly, and then held her off at arms' length. "There!" he said, lightly, "that's what little girls get when they come too near!"
"Was I too near?" and Dorothy put up the face of a rebuked cherub.
"Dorothy, stop! I can't stand it! Have you no mercy, child? But some day, you shall be all my very own! You say this is no time to tell you this, and so I will wait; but, the time will come, my little love. When,—when Justin returns, I shall tell him you are mine,—not his!"
"Oh, I don't think so, Mr. Crosby," and Dorothy shrugged her dimpled shoulders as she turned away. "A lady's consent is thought to be necessary to such an arrangement."
"Not for me," and Crosby smiled gaily; "I'm a Cave Man, and I shall carry off the lady I want, regardless of her wishes."
Crosby stood with folded arms, looking very big and handsome. Of magnificent physique, and in splendid condition, he seemed quite capable of picking up a maiden and running away with her.
The idea amused Dorothy. "When Cave Men carry off little girls," she said, "do they throw them over their shoulders,—or just grabble them up under their arms?"
Crosby considered. "There are various technical methods," he said; "if it's a very big man and a very little girl, as in this case, he just—well, I'll show you—"
"No, don't!" cried Dorothy; "here comes Mrs. Crane!"
"Some other time, then," murmured Crosby, and turned to greet Mabel.
"I'm so glad you came, dear," said Dorothy; "I've entertained Mr. Crosby to the very limit of my powers. He's bored to death with me; so you take him in charge while I run and play with Mr. Gale. Hello, Emory! Here's me!"
Others came then, and soon there were several groups, all trying to avoid the subject of Arnold's disappearance, but all coming back to it sooner or later.
Mabel Crane did not hesitate. "Mr. Crosby," she said, at once, "they tell me you know all about this place. Now I want to ask you something. Is there any secret passage of any kind in this old house?"
"Secret passage! What do you mean?"
"Why, I'm determined to find Justin, myself, if possible. Now, they all say he couldn't have gotten out of this house last night. But if there is a secret passage that no one knows about, of course he could have gone out that way. And they said that you would know if there was one."
"Who said that?" asked Crosby.
"Why, I don't know—Miss Wadsworth, I think. At any rate, they all agreed that if any such thing exists, you would be likely to know about it."
"Of course I should. I know every nook and corner of this house, both the old original structure and the modern additions. You see, I always spent my summers here as a boy, and Justin and I were everlastingly exploring the place. No, there is no secret passage. Those things are built in mediaeval castles, or sometimes in old English mansions, but I fancy there are not many in America. At any rate, there are no sliding panels or staircases in the wall at White Birches. Of that I'm positive."
"I thought there couldn't be," said Mabel, "or we should have heard of it before. But then, where is Justin, and how did he get out of the house?"
Crosby passed his hand wearily across his brow. "Mrs. Crane," he said, "I fear that question will be asked many times before it is answered. Of course, my own theory—"
Some of the others joined them just then, and as Mabel took little interest in theories, when she wanted to learn facts, she did not ask Crosby to finish his sentence.
Conversation at dinner touched more or less upon the subject of the mystery, but the talk was not general, and each one merely exchanged views with his neighbor. The vacant chair at the head of the table cast an atmosphere of gloom over the diners. Little was eaten, and all were glad when Miss Wadsworth gave the signal to rise.
Nor was it long before the men drifted into the library, where the women sat awaiting them.
"It seems to me," began Miss Wadsworth, "that the time has come to do something more definite in our search for Justin. We have asked Mr. Gale and Mr. Crosby, as lawyers, to advise us, but I think that we must employ the services of some professional."
"You mean a detective?" asked Fred Crane. "I thought you seriously objected to that."
"I did at first; but since I've talked with Mr. Gale I'm more reconciled to the idea."
"I think the matter is a very grave one," said Emory Gale, tacitly assuming an attitude of leading the discussion, somewhat to the discomfiture of Mr. Crane, who himself coveted that position. "We have few facts to work upon," continued Gale, "but they are startling ones and apparently inexplicable. We are convinced that the extreme efficacy of the burglar-alarm prevented Arnold from leaving the house; and yet he is not to be found in the house. Of course I am assuming that the search of the house has been thorough, as I am informed it has been. There has been suggestion of a secret panel leading to a concealed staircase or passage through the wall, but this idea seems to me fanciful. Had there been such a thing, we doubtless would have known of it, for Arnold was fond of exhibiting such features of the house as were peculiar or interesting. Crosby, you know the house well. Does it contain any secret doors or passages?"
"It does not," replied Crosby. "As boys, Justin and I explored every part of the estate, both house and grounds, and no such secret passage exists."
"Then we may eliminate that theory," went on Gale; "and so we are again confronted by a blank wall of seeming contradictions. Arnold is not in the house—yet he could not get out of the house. But there must be an explanation, and, speaking theoretically, I can find but two possible ones. Either he left the house by the assistance or connivance of some one inside its walls, or else he had a means of exit unknown to others."
Though these suggestions were somewhat veiled, every one understood that what Gale really meant was that he suspected that some one in the house either guest or servant, knew more than had been told.
But without enlarging on this point, the speaker went on: "However, if he did leave the house, by any means whatever, I cannot think it possible that he left the grounds; the only exit being the great gate, and no human being could go out through that and fasten its chains and bolts again on the inside Nor could