xcellent physical condition."

Sayre turned the page outward so that Mr. Trinkle could see it.

"Here's his photograph," he said, "and his dimensions."

Mr. Trinkle nodded: "Go on," he said; and Sayre resumed, turning the
page:

"May 8th: James Carrick, a minor poet, young, well built, handsome, and
in excellent physical condition, disappeared from a boat on Dingman's
Pond. The boat was found. It contained a note-book in which was neatly
written the following graceful poem:

"While gliding o'er thy fair expanse
And gazing at the shore beyond,
What simple joys the soul entrance
Evoked by rowing on Dingman's Pond.
The joy I here have found shall be
Dear to my heart till life forsake,
And often shall I think of thee,
Thou mildly beauteous Dingman's Lake."

"Stop!" said Mr. Trinkle, infuriated. Sayre looked up.

"The poem gets the hook!" he snarled. "Go on!"

"The next," continued young Sayre, referring to his edible note-book, "is
the case of De Lancy Smith. On May 16th he left his camp, taking with him
his rod with the intention of trying for some of the larger, wilder, and
more dangerous trout which it is feared still infest the remoter streams
of the State forest.

"His luncheon, consisting of truffled pates and champagne, was found by a
searching party, but De Lancy Smith has never again been seen or heard
of. He was young, well built, handsome, and----"

"In excellent physical condition!" snapped Mr. Trinkle. "That's the third
Adonis you've described. Quit it!"

"But that is the exact description of those three young men----"

"Every one of 'em?"

"Every one. They all seem to have been exceptionally handsome and
healthy."

"Well, does that suggest any clue to you? Think! Use your mind. Do you
see any clue?"

"In what?"

"In the probably similar fate of so much masculine beauty?"

The young men looked at him, perplexed, silent.

Mr. Trinkle waved his hands in desperation.

"Wake up!" he shouted. "Doesn't it strike you as odd that every one of
them so far has been Gibsonian perfection itself? Doesn't that seem
funny? Doesn't it suggest some connection with the present Franchise
strike?"

"It _is_ odd," said Langdon, thoughtfully.

"You notice," bellowed Mr. Trinkle, "that no young man
disappears who isn't a physical Adonis, do you? No thin-shanked,
stoop-shouldered, scant-haired highbrow has yet vanished. You notice
that, don't you, Sayre? Open your m