removed body, but am keeping room exactly as found until you arrive.
Bring Jameson. Wire if you cannot come, but make every effort and spare
no expense. Anxiously, Tom Langley."

Craig was impatiently looking at his watch as I hastily ran through the
letter.

"Hurry, Walter," he exclaimed. "We can just catch the Empire State.
Never mind shaving--we'll have a stopover at Utica to wait for the
Montreal express. Here, put the rest of your things in your grip and
jam it shut. We'll get something to eat on the train--I hope. I'll wire
we're coming. Don't forget to latch the door."

Kennedy was already half-way to the elevator, and I followed ruefully,
still thinking of the ocean and the piers, the bands and the roller
chairs.

It was a good ten-hour journey up to the little station nearest Camp
Hang-out and at least a two hour ride after that. We had plenty of time
to reflect over what this death might mean to Tom and his sister and to
speculate on the manner of it. Tom and Grace Langley were relatives by
marriage of Lewis Langley, who, after the death of his wife, had made
them his proteges. Lewis Langley was principally noted, as far as I
could recall, for being a member of some of the fastest clubs of both
New York and London. Neither Kennedy nor myself had shared in the
world's opinion of him, for we knew how good he had been to Tom in
college and, from Tom, how good he had been to Grace. In fact, he had
made Tom assume the Langley name, and in every way had treated the
brother and sister as if they had been his own children.

Tom met us with a smart trap at the station, a sufficient indication,
if we had not already known, of the "roughing it" at such a luxurious
Adirondack "camp" as Camp Hang-out. He was unaffectedly glad to see us,
and it was not difficult to read in his face the worry which the affair
had already given him.

"Tom; I'm awfully sorry to--" began Craig when, warned by Langley's
look at the curious crowd that always gathers at the railroad station
at train time, he cut it short. We stood silently a moment while Tom was
arranging the trap for us.

As we swung around the bend in the road that cut off the little station
and its crowd of lookers-on, Kennedy was the first to speak. "Tom," he
said, "first of all, let me ask that when we get to the camp we are
to be simply two old classmates whom you had asked to spend a few days
before the tragedy occurred. Anything will do. There may be nothing at
al