"

"Oh, I don't know," I replied as lightly as I could. "It was a very
strange affair, and it rather called for strange conduct of one sort
or another."

"Still, you must have thought it cowardly to run away as quickly as I
could," he insisted.

"It was some time before we even noticed you had left us," I laughed,
"and then, I confess, I couldn't quite make out where you had got to
or why you had gone."

"As a matter of fact we were rather scared," Dennis put in. "We
searched for you in the river."

"It sounds a very cowardly confession to make," Hilderman admitted,
"but I went back to the landing-stage, got into my boat, and cleared
off as quickly as I could. I must ask you to believe that I was under
the impression that it would be best for us all that I should. But my
idea proved to be a bad one and nothing came of it. So here I am to
ask you if you have learned anything or have anything to suggest."

"I'm afraid we're more at a loss than ever now," I admitted. "The
further we get with this thing the less we seem to know about it,
unfortunately."

Hilderman was exceedingly sympathetic, and though he made numerous
suggestions he was as puzzled as we were ourselves. I had some
difficulty in defining his attitude. We knew as much as was sufficient
to hang his friend "Fuller," but I could not make up my mind whether
he really was a friend of von Guernstein's or not. It was a small
thing that decided me. On an occasionable table beside the American
lay a steel paper-knife, a Japanese affair, with a carved handle and a
very sharp blade. Hilderman picked up the knife and toyed with it.

"I should be careful with that, Mr. Hilderman," I advised. "That is a
wolf in sheep's clothing; it's exceedingly sharp."

"Oh, yes!" cried Myra. "If you mean my paper-knife, it ought not
really to be used as a paper-knife at all, the point is like a needle.
I must put it away or hang it up as an ornament."

The American laughed and laid the knife down again on the table, and
we resumed our discussion. Both Dennis and I knew that we must be very
careful to conceal our suspicions, but at the same time we did our
best to reach some sort of conclusion with regard to Hilderman
himself.

"And, I suppose, until you have searched about the Saddle," he
remarked, "you will be no further on as to who stole Miss McLeod's
dog. It seems to me that the dog was taken by the man who wished to
conceal an illicit still, and the green flash, or g