aped, and not yet found,
but that some weeks previously, a man, "stage-struck," as they put it,
had gotten away, and it was to his help that the departure of the girl
was attributed. Dorothy, from her hiding place, heard all this, and
knew only too well that the man referred to was none other than
Morrison.

"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, b