“Oh, it isn’t that,” Mortlake hastened to say.  “I’m willing, but Mr. Harding.  He is old, and the night air——­”

“Mr. Harding can remain with the automobile.  There are plenty of wraps in it.  Come, Roy.  Are you coming, Mr. Mortlake?”

“Yes, oh, yes.  Mr. Harding, you will make yourself comfortable till we return.”

Having said this, Mortlake came lumbering after the other two, as eagerly as if his whole soul was bent on capturing the two men who had been carrying out his orders.

“I’ve got a revolver ready for them,” he volunteered, as the party plunged through the woods along the little track Roy had followed.

“Take care it doesn’t go off prematurely and alarm them,” said the officer.  “We don’t want to let them slip through our fingers.”

“Of course not; I’ll be very careful,” promised Mortlake.

They trudged on in silence.  Suddenly Roy halted.

“We’re near to the place now,” he said.

“Advance cautiously in single file,” ordered the lieutenant.  “I’ll go first.”

In Indian file, they crept up on the house.  Its outlines could now be seen, and in one window a ruddy glow from the lamp the two abductors of Roy had kindled.  Evidently they had not yet discovered his escape.

All at once Mortlake, who was last, stumbled on a root and fell forward; as he did so, his revolver was discharged twice.  The shots rang out loudly in the still night.

Instantly the light was extinguished.  The next instant two dark figures could be seen racing from the house.  Before Lieut.  Bradbury could call on them to halt, they vanished in the darkness and a patch of woods to the north.

“What a misfortune!” exclaimed Mortlake contritely, picking himself up.

Lieutenant Bradbury could hardly restrain his anger.

“How on earth did you happen to do that, Mortlake?” he snapped.  “Those two shots alarmed those rascals, and now they’re gone for good.  It’s most annoying.”

“I appreciate your chagrin, my dear Bradbury,” rejoined Mortlake suavely, “but accidents will happen, you know.”

“Yes, and sometimes they happen most opportunely,” was the sharp reply.

Mortlake said nothing.  In silence they approached the house, but nothing save the pack of greasy cards, was found there to indicate the identity of its late occupants.

There was nothing to do but to return to the automobile.  They found old Mr. Harding awaiting them eagerly.  He showed no emotion on learning that Roy’s captors had escaped just as their capture seemed certain.

On the drive back to Sandy Beach, the old banker and Mortlake occupied the front seat, while Roy and Lieut.  Bradbury sat in the tonneau.  As they skimmed along, Roy drew something from his pocket and showed it to the officer.  It was an object that glistened in the wavering moonlight.

“It’s a woman’s hair comb!” cried the officer in amazement, as he regarded it.