t" affair. But it was a case of deeds, not words.
Things had to be done and done quickly. It's all rather tragic and
wildly funny.

You should have seen Jack's face when he came back to Awepesha after
motoring over to spy out the nakedness of the land at Kidd's Pines. It
takes a lot to flabbergast Jack, as I learned when he was my "Lightning
Conductor"; but he certainly did look flabbergasted this time. You know
the look as well as the "feel," don't you? It makes the eyes seem wider
apart and dropped down at the outer corners.

He glanced hastily about to see if I were alone. I was still in the
library where he'd left me, because I didn't want to go over the house
till he could go, too: and luckily I'd found enough piled-up letters and
telegrams to keep me occupied.

"It's all right," I said. "Patsey's taking a walk in the garden. She's
too restless to sit still. Besides, I dare say she hoped to head you
off. A wonder she didn't! But perhaps she's gone down to the water to
try and catch a distant glimpse of Kidd's Pines. What _has_ become of
the adored Larry? Did you find him?"

"I did not," said Jack. "I didn't find anybody--at least at the house."

"You didn't expect to find anybody but Larry, did you?" I asked.

"I expected to find servants."

"Good heavens! aren't there any?" I gasped.

"No. Wait till I tell you what happened. There's a porter's lodge, of
course, but the gate was closed when we got there and nobody came to
open it. Fortunately it was only shut, not locked. We drove in. It's a
ripping place, my child. This can't be compared with it. Yet there's an
air of neglect over everything. That didn't surprise me much. But when I
rang the bell a dozen times without getting an answer it began to seem
like a bad dream. I got tired of admiring the doorway, though it's a
beauty, and you'll be mad about it; so I decided to investigate
elsewhere. I tried my luck at two side entrances and then at the back.
Not a sound. Not even the mew of a cat. Palace of the Sleeping Beauty!
Not to be discouraged, I wandered along till I found the stables--fine
big ones, and a huge garage. Locked up and silent as the grave. Farther
on I discovered a gardener's house: door fastened, blinds down. I went
back and told our chauffeur: Jekyll, his name is. He knew no more about
Mr. Moore's affairs than we--only what he'd read in the papers; but he
proposed running on to the village, and making an errand at the
post-office: thought