Fogerty, on his knees, scanned the snow carefully, and although Weldon could discover no sign of a footprint the young detective nodded his head sagaciously and slowly made his way to the trellis at the end.  Here it was plain that the accumulation of snow had recently been brushed away from the frail framework.  “It was strong enough to hold her, though,” declared Fogerty, looking over the edge of the roof.  “I’ll descend the same way, sir.  Go back by the stairs and meet me below.”

He grasped the lattice and began cautiously to lower himself to the ground, and Arthur turned to rejoin his friends in the room.

“That is the way she escaped, without doubt,” he said to them.  “Poor child, she had no idea we were about to rescue her, and her long confinement had made her desperate.”

“Did she have a cloak, or any warm clothes?” asked Beth.  Madame Cerise hurriedly examined the wardrobe in the closets.

“Yes, ma’m’selle; she has taken a thick coat and a knit scarf,” she answered.  But I am sure she had no gloves, and her shoes were very thin.”

“How long do you think she has been gone?” Patsy enquired.

“Not more than an hour.  I was talking with Mr. Mershone, and—­”

“Mershone!  Is he here?” demanded Arthur.

“He is in my room downstairs—­or was when you came,” said the woman.

“That accounts for her sudden flight,” declared the young man, bitterly.  “She doubtless heard his voice and in a sudden panic decided to fly.  Did Mershone see her?” he asked.

“No, m’sieur,” replied Cerise.

With one accord they descended to the lower hall and the caretaker led the way to her room.  To their surprise they found Mershone still seated in the chair by the fire, his hands clasped behind his head, a cigarette between his lips.

“Here is another crime for you to account for!” cried Arthur, advancing upon him angrily.  “You have driven Louise to her death!”

Mershone raised one hand in mild protest.

“Don’t waste time cursing me,” he said.  “Try to find Louise before it is too late.”

The reproach seemed justified.  Arthur paused and turning to Mr. Merrick said: 

“He is right.  I’ll go help Fogerty, and you must stay here and look after the girls until we return.”  As he went out he passed Diana without a look.  She sat in a corner of the room sobbing miserably.  Beth was thoughtful and quiet, Patsy nervous and indignant.  Uncle John was apparently crushed by the disaster that had overtaken them.  Mershone’s suggestion that Louise might perish in the storm was no idle one; the girl was not only frail and delicate but worn out with her long imprisonment and its anxieties.  They all realized this.

“I believe,” said Mershone, rising abruptly, “I’ll go and join the search.  Fogerty has arrested me, but you needn’t worry about my trying to escape.  I don’t care what becomes of me, now, and I’m going straight to join the detective.”