They allowed him to go without protest, and he buttoned his coat and set out in the storm to find the others.  Fogerty and Arthur were by this time in the lane back of the grounds, where the detective was advancing slowly with his eyes fixed on the ground.

“The tracks are faint, but easily followed,” he was saying, “The high heels of her shoes leave a distinct mark.”

When Mershone joined them Arthur scowled at the fellow but said nothing.  Fogerty merely smiled.

From the lane the tracks, already nearly obliterated by the fast falling snow, wandered along nearly a quarter of a mile to a crossroads, where they became wholly lost.

Fogerty looked up and down the roads and shook his head with a puzzled expression.

“We’ve surely traced her so far,” said he, “but now we must guess at her further direction.  You’ll notice this track of a wagon.  It may have passed fifteen minutes or an hour ago.  The hoof tracks of the horses are covered, so I’m not positive which way they headed; I only know there are indications of hoof tracks, which proves it a farmer’s wagon.  The question is, whether the young lady met it, and caught a ride, or whether she proceeded along some of the other trails.  I can’t find any indication of those high-heeled shoes from this point, in any direction.  Better get your car, Mr. Weldon, and run east a few miles, keeping sharp watch of the wagon tracks on the way.  It was a heavy wagon, for the wheels cut deep.  Mershone and I will go west.  When you’ve driven far enough to satisfy yourself you’re going the wrong direction, you may easily overtake us on your return.  Then, if we’ve discovered nothing on this road, we’ll try the other.”  Arthur ran back at once to the house and in a few minutes had started on his quest.  The motor car was powerful enough to plow through the deep snow with comparative ease.

Those left together in Madam Cerise’s little room were more to be pitied than the ones engaged in active search, for there was nothing to relieve their fears and anxieties.  Diana, unable to bear the accusing looks of Patsy and Beth, resolved to make a clean breast of her complicity in the affair and related to them every detail of her connection with her cousin’s despicable plot.  She ended by begging their forgiveness, and wept so miserably that Uncle John found himself stroking her hair while Patsy came close and pressed the penitent girl’s hand as if to comfort and reassure her.

Beth said nothing.  She could not find it in her heart as yet to forgive Diana’s selfish conspiracy against her cousin’s happiness.  If Louise perished in this dreadful storm the proud Diana Von Taer could not escape the taint of murder.  The end was not yet.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE CRISIS

Mershone and Fogerty plodded through the snow together, side by side.  They were facing the wind, which cut their faces cruelly, yet neither seemed to mind the bitterness of the weather.  “Keep watch along the roadside,” suggested Mershone; “she may have fallen anywhere, you know.  She couldn’t endure this thing long.  Poor Louise!”