er raids over No Man's
Land. The sheriff and the constable were both present, Mrs. Gentry, the
housekeeper, was standing, pale but remarkably self-possessed, at the
inner door of the room. Of course I couldn't count up the blacks. Most
of them were evidently hiding in their rooms. And every one of the six
guests answered his name.

"There's just one more name to give," Nopp said at last.

"But there's no use naming it," some one answered in a queer, flat
voice. "He's not here."

Nopp turned, and bounded like a deer up the stairs. All of us knew what
he had gone to do: to see if the missing man was in his room. And there
was nothing for us but to wait for his report.

But in a moment we heard his step on the stairs. He sprang down among
us, and evidently his fine self-mastery was breaking within him. His
fine eyes held vivid points of light.

"My God, he's gone," he said. "Not a sign of him."

"It can't be true," Pescini answered.

"It is. His bed is rumpled--but not thrown back or slept in."

Von Hope, the missing man's closest friend, suddenly gasped aloud. "But
I won't believe it--not until we make a search!" he cried. "It can't be
true."

"Believe it or not. Search through the grounds or call through the
house. Nealman's gone just as Florey's body went last night."

CHAPTER XVI

We searched through the house, grimly and purposefully; but Nealman, the
genial host of Kastle Krags, was neither revealed to our eyes or gave
answer to our calls. It was no longer possible to doubt but that it was
his voice that had uttered that fearful cry for help.

While the coroner, whose special province is death, led the guests in a
detailed search through the grounds, Sheriff Slatterly and I examined
the missing man's room. And here I was to learn the contents of those
mysterious telegrams that had reached Nealman after the inquest of the
preceding day.

They were lying on his desk, one of them torn in two as if in a fit of
anger, the other rumpled from a hundred readings. I read aloud to the
sheriff:

BLAIR COMBINE FORCING I. S. AND H. TO BOTTOM. MOVE QUICK IF
YOU CAN.

The second read:

I. S. AND H. DOWN TO 28. ALL YOUR INDUSTRIALS SMASHED WIDE
OPEN. FLETCHER NEALMAN GOES DOWN IN SMASH.

The sheriff halted in his search and took the messages from my hand.
"I'm not much up on the stock market," he said. "Do you know what these
mean----"

"Not exactly. I know that I. S. and H. stock