n the early morning, and equally
natural all through the lengthy conference which followed; but a half
hour later, any one who knew him well,--any of his fellow detectives in
New York; especially Mr. Gryce, who had almost fathered him since he came
among them, a raw and inexperienced recruit--would have seen at first
glance that his spirits were no longer at par, and that the cheer he
displayed in manner and look was entirely assumed, and likely to
disappear as soon as he found himself alone.

And it did so disappear. When, at two o'clock, he entered the club-house
grounds, it was without buoyancy or any of the natural animation with
which he usually went about his work. Each step seemed weighted with
thought, or, at least, heavy with inner dissatisfaction. But his eye was
as keen as ever, and he began to use that eye from the moment he passed
the gates. What was in his mind? Was he hunting for new clews, or was he
merely seeking to establish the old?

The officers on guard knew him, by this time, and let him pass hither,
thither, and where he would, unmolested. He walked up and down the
driveways, peering continuously at the well-trodden snow. He studied the
spaces between. He sauntered to the rear, and looked out over the
golf-links. Then he began to study the ground in this direction, as he
had already studied it in front. The few mutterings which left his lips
continued to speak of discontent. "If I had only had Clarke's chance, or
even Hexford's," was among his complaints. "But what can I hope now? The
snow has been trampled till it is one solid cake of ice, to the very edge
of the golf-links. Beyond that, the distance is too great for minute
inspection. Yet it will have to be gone over, inch by inch, before I
shall feel satisfied. I must know how much of his story is to be
believed, and how much of it we can safely set aside."

He ended by wandering down on the golf-links. Taking out his watch, he
satisfied himself that he had time for an experiment, and immediately
started for Cuthbert Road. An hour later, he came wandering back, on a
different line. He looked soured, disappointed. When near the building
again, he cast his eye over its rear, and gazed long and earnestly at
the window which had been pointed out to him as the one from which a
possible light had shone forth that night. There were no trees on this
side of the house--only vines. But the vines were bare of leaves and
offered no obstruction to his vie