"

"Perhaps her death affected his mind," Reynolds suggested.

"I have thought of that, and his sudden disappearance, as well as the
peculiar letter I read to you, lends color to the idea."

"What became of the child?"

"No one knows. He evidently took her with him, and that is another
reason why I believe no harm befell him as you suggested. The whole
affair is involved in the deepest mystery."

"And did no one attempt to solve it?" Reynolds asked. "Was no effort
made to find the missing man?"

"There was at the time, and the newspapers far and near made mention of
his disappearance. It was the talk of the city for several weeks, and
I understand that several men thought seriously of searching for him.
But the interest gradually waned, and he was forgotten except by a few,
of whom I am one."

Reynolds rose to his feet and picked up his hat.

"Suppose I think this over for a few days?" he suggested. "If I get
the fever I shall let you know. In the meantime I shall plug away at
my present job. I can't afford to be idle, for 'idleness is the
holiday of fools,' as someone has said."

"That's fine, Tom," and the editor's face brightened with pleasure.
"And, remember, you shall be supplied with all the money you need, so
do not worry about that."

"Thank you, but I have a little of my own that will last me for a
while. When I run through with it I may call upon you."

"Very well, do as you like, Tom. But think it over and let me know of
your decision as soon as possible."

CHAPTER II

WHEN THE FOG-BANK LIFTED

The _Northern Light_ was lying at her wharf preparing for her long run
to the far Northern Pacific, through the numerous islands studding the
coastal waters of British Columbia, and the United States Territory of
Alaska. All day long she had been taking on board great quantities of
freight, and now on the eve of her departure passengers were arriving.
The latter were mostly men, for new gold diggings had been discovered
back in the hills bordering the Yukon River, and old-timers were
flocking northward, anticipating another Klondyke, and all that it
might mean.

Tom Reynolds stood on the wharf noting the excitement that was taking
place around him. Apart from the article he would prepare for the next
day's issue of _The Telegram_; he was more than usually interested in
what he beheld. As he watched several bronzed and grizzly veterans of
many a long trail and wild stampede, a desir