“And this fellow has been caught?” asked Ned, anxiously.

“Yes,” replied one of the men.  “We took him in again yesterday afternoon.”

“Is he too demented to tell anything?  That is, to know who was with him while he was free?” went on Ned.

“Oh, he just talks in a rambling way about a girl who, he declares, should have a fortune that his uncle has hidden away.  He has really never been entirely off, but one of the kind who rides a hobby, you know,” said the man.  “His hobby is theatricals.”

“But has he an uncle?  Might he have taken a girl to that man?” persisted Ned.  “You see, we have reason to believe that the girl we are in search of, met this man.  Now, if he has been captured, what has become of her?”

“That’s one of the questions we may have to answer before our Board of Inquiry,” replied the man with no small concern.  “It is easy enough for those lunatics to get away, but to get them back is harder.  And the girl’s mother is a widow, with all kinds of money.”

Dorothy could scarcely keep still.  Only the pressure of Cologne’s hands kept her from telling what she knew of the story.  Then the fear of again being mistaken for Mary Harriwell—­that was too great a risk.

“Is there absolutely no clew?” asked Nat, almost in despair, for he was always fond of Tavia.

“Yes.  The station agent at Lexington tells a story about a girl coming to him and staying in the station alone all night.  But he declares she had dark hair and brown eyes, while Mary Harriwell is a blonde.  Others about the station agree with him.  That girl left for the Junction night before last, and was not picked up dead or alive since.  The officials of the road have had searched every inch of the track.  Seems that old Sam Dixon is very worried about this because he let the girl go.  He did not know just who she was, but to hear him talk you would think it was his daughter.  Well, we must go beating farther along.  This searching, and with night coming, is no fun.  We wish you luck, and if you find your girl let us know.”

So the parties separated and then Dorothy was free to leave her hiding place.  She longed to tell her friends the strange story, but she knew that the finding of Tavia was the one and only thing to be thought of just then.

“Are you sure that this is the direction in which the boys went?” asked Nat, with something like a sigh.

Dorothy looked over the rough woodland.  “No,” she said, “there was a swamp, for I distinctly remember that they picked their way through tall grass, and about here the grass is actually dried up.”

“Then to find a swamp,” said Nat.  “Seems to me there are more kinds of trees in Maine, and more kinds of things to catch at a fellow’s——­”

A cry from Ned stopped the speech.

“Oh!” he yelled.  “Something has my foot!  Come quick!”

“Oh, maybe it is a rattlesnake!” gasped Cologne.