Nothing that had gone before had been as bad as this. The murder and
Thomas' sudden death we had been able to view in a detached sort of
way. But with Halsey's disappearance everything was altered. Our
little circle, intact until now, was broken. We were no longer
onlookers who saw a battle passing around them. We were the center of
action. Of course, there was no time then to voice such an idea. My
mind seemed able to hold only one thought: that Halsey had been foully
dealt with, and that every minute lost might be fatal.
Mr. Jamieson came back about eight o'clock the next morning: he was
covered with mud, and his hat was gone. Altogether, we were a
sad-looking trio that gathered around a breakfast that no one could
eat. Over a cup of black coffee the detective told us what he had
learned of Halsey's movements the night before. Up to a certain point
the car had made it easy enough to follow him. And I gathered that Mr.
Burns, the other detective, had followed a similar car for miles at
dawn, only to find it was a touring car on an endurance run.
"He left here about ten minutes after eight," Mr. Jamieson said. "He
went alone, and at eight twenty he stopped at Doctor Walker's. I went
to the doctor's about midnight, but he had been called out on a case,
and had not come back at four o'clock. From the doctor's it seems Mr.
Innes walked across the lawn to the cottage Mrs. Armstrong and her
daughter have taken. Mrs. Armstrong had retired, and he said perhaps a
dozen words to Miss Louise. She will not say what they were, but the
girl evidently suspects what has occurred. That is, she suspects foul
play, but she doesn't know of what nature. Then, apparently, he
started directly for the station. He was going very fast--the flagman
at the Carol Street crossing says he saw the car pass. He knew the
siren. Along somewhere in the dark stretch between Carol Street and
the depot he evidently swerved suddenly--perhaps some one in the
road--and went full into the side of a freight. We found it there last
night."
"He might have been thrown under the train by the force of the shock,"
I said tremulously.
Gertrude shuddered.
"We examined every inch of track. There was--no sign."
"But surely--he can't be--gone!" I cried. "Aren't there traces in the
mud--anything?"
"There is no mud--only dust. There has been no rain. And the footpath
there is of cinders. Miss Innes, I am inclined to think that he has
met with bad treatment, in the light of what has gone before. I do not
think he has been murdered." I shrank from the word. "Burns is back
in the country, on a clue we got from the night clerk at the
drug-store. There will be two more men here by noon, and the city
office is on the lookout."