ome restlessness, a desire to be actively at work.

The last streak of gray had long faded when the train drew up at
Deacon's Bay station--a small building with a shed like an exaggerated
collar about its throat. At this hour there was no operator on duty.
Only one or two oil lamps maintained an indifferent resistance to the
mist. Garth saw a horse and carriage at the rear. He walked to it.

"Could you drive me to Mr. Andrew Alden's place?" he asked.

From the depths of the carriage a native's voice replied:

"Probably you're the party I'm looking for. If you're Mr. Garth from New
York, step in."

Garth obeyed, and they drove off along a road for the most part flanked
by thick woods.

Without warning, through an open space, Garth saw a flame spring upward,
tearing the mist and splashing the sky with wanton scarlet.

"What's that?" he asked sharply.

The glare diminished and died. The native clucked to his horse.

"Mr. Alden's furnaces," he answered.

Garth stirred.

"I see. Iron. Steel. And now it works night and day?"

"On war orders," the native answered. "Now you wouldn't think we'd ever
have got in the war, would you? There's a whole town--board shacks--to
take care of the men--more'n fifteen hundred of them."

Garth nodded thoughtfully. Here at the start was a condition that might
make the presence of a detective comforting to his host.

As they penetrated deeper into the woods the driver exhibited an
increasing desire to talk, and from time to time, Garth remarked, he
glanced over his shoulder.

"None of my business," the man said, "but it's funny Mr. Alden's having
company now."

Garth smiled. He was certainly on the threshold of a case he had been
asked to enter wholly unprepared.

"Maybe you'll tell me why," he encouraged.

"Because," the driver answered, "although Mr. Alden stands to make a
pile of money, he's paying for it in some ways. You didn't hear about
his yacht?"

Garth shook his head.

"Maybe some of these rough workmen he's got up from the city, or maybe
somebody wanted to pay him out. Took it out of his boat-house a few
nights ago, started on a joy-ride, I suppose, and ran it on the rocks."

"Much loss?" Garth asked.

"Total, except for the furnishings."

"Are you one of Mr. Alden's servants?"

The driver's laugh was uncomfortable.

"That's what I meant about his having company. There aren't any servants
except the old butler. A woman from the village goes to get brea