l. We can get
to the Hotel in five minutes."

* * * * *

It was a flight of only half an hour. During it, Alan told me about
Polter. The hunchback, known now as Frank Rascor, owned a mine in the
Laurentians, some thirty miles from Quebec City--a fabulously productive
mine of gold. It was an anomaly that gold should be produced in this
region. No vein of gold-bearing rock had been found, except the one on
Polter's property. Alan had seen a newspaper account of the strangeness
of it; and on a hunch had come to Quebec, being intrigued by the
description of the mine owner. He had seen Frank Rascor on the Dufferin
Terrace, and recognized him as Polter.

Again my thoughts went back into the past. Had Polter stolen that
missing fragment of golden quartz the size of a walnut which had been
beneath Dr. Kent's microscope? We always thought so. Dr. Kent had some
secret, some great problem upon which he was working. Polter, his
assistant, had evidently known, or partially known, its details. And
now, four years later, Polter was immensely rich, with a "gold mine" in
mountains where there was no other evidence of gold!

I seemed to see some connection. Alan, I knew, was groping with a dim
idea, so strange he hardly dared voice it.

"I tell you, it's weird, George. The sight of him. Polter--heavens, one
couldn't mistake that build--and his face, his features, just the same
as when we knew him."

"Then what's so weird?" I demanded.

"His age." There was a queer solemn hush in Alan's voice. "George, when
we knew Polter, he was about twenty-five, wasn't he? Well, that was four
years ago. But he isn't twenty-nine now. I swear it is the same man, but
he isn't around thirty. Don't ask me what I'm talking about. I don't
know. But he isn't thirty. He's nearer fifty! Unnatural! Weird! I felt
it, and so did Babs, just that brief look we had of him."

I didn't answer. My attention was on managing the plane. The lights of
Levis were under us. Beyond the City cliffs, the St. Lawrence lay in its
deep valley; the Quebec lights, the light-dotted ramparts with the
Terrace and the great fortresslike Hotel showed across the river.

"Better take the stick, Alan. I don't know where the field is. And don't
you worry about Babs. She'll be back by now."

* * * * *

But she was not. We went to the two connecting rooms in the tower of the
Hotel which Alan and Babs had engaged. We inqui