l to your evident suspicions, and then again there may. At any
rate, play the game safely--don't arouse any feeling which might cause
unpleasantness later in case you are mistaken."

"I quite agree with you," answered Tom. "You wired, from Albany, I
think, to keep the facts out of the papers as much as possible. I'm
afraid it is too late for that. Of course the thing became vaguely known
in Saranac, although the county officers have been very considerate of
us, and this morning a New York Record correspondent was over and talked
with us. I couldn't refuse, that would have put a very bad face on it."

"Too bad," I exclaimed. "I had hoped, at least, to be able to keep the
report down to a few lines in the Star. But the Record will have such
a yellow story about it that I'll simply have to do something to
counteract the effect."

"Yes," assented Craig. "But--wait. Let's see the Record story first. The
office doesn't know you're up here. You can hold up the Star and give
us time to look things over, perhaps get in a beat on the real story and
set things right. Anyhow, the news is out. That's certain. We must work
quickly. Tell me, Tom, who are at the camp--anyone except relatives?"

"No," he replied, guardedly measuring his words. "Uncle Lewis had
invited his brother James and his niece and nephew, Isabelle and James,
junior--we call him Junior. Then there are Grace and myself and
a distant relative, Harrington Brown, and--oh, of course, uncle's
physician, Doctor Putnam."

"Who is Harrington Brown" asked Craig.

"He's on the other side of the Langley family, on Uncle Lewis's mother's
side. I think, or at least Grace thinks, that he is quite in love with
Isabelle. Harrington Brown would be quite a catch. Of course he isn't
wealthy, but his family is mighty well connected. Oh, Craig," sighed
Langley, "I wish he hadn't done it--Uncle Lewis, I mean. Why did he
invite his brother up here now when he needed to recover from the swift
pace of last winter in New York? You know--or you don't know, I suppose,
but you'll know it now--when he and Uncle Jim got together there was
nothing to it but one drink after another. Doctor Putnam was quite
disgusted, at least he professed to be, but, Craig," he lowered his
voice to a whisper, as if the very forest had ears, "they're all
alike--they've been just waiting for Uncle Lewis to drink himself to
death. Oh," he added bitterly, "there's no love lost between me and the
relatives on that