e by this time, but I'll see."

She pushed the buzzer button in the hall and soon the new chauffeur
appeared at the side entrance. Yes, the detectives had gone, but he
knew where they could be found--at the High Peak Athletic Club.

Mr. Stanlock at once called up the club and soon had one of the
detectives on the wire.

"Can you men come over at once?" he inquired. "One of the girls has
disappeared and we are afraid that something serious has happened."

"Yes, we'll be there right away," was the answer.

Twenty minutes later there was a ring at the door and the three
detectives, a tall thin man, a short heavy man, and a squarely built
angular man, were ushered in.

The short heavy man, named Meyers, was the most talkative of the
three. He put forth a string of questions as to when and where Helen
was last seen and what she was doing. Had anybody seen her go out of
the house? Nobody had. Was there anything peculiar in her manner in
the course of the day? Nothing peculiar. What kind of a girl was she?
What were her most noticeable characteristics? Had she any pronounced
likes and dislikes? Was she in the habit of doing things just to be
contrary? Was she a girl of good judgment, or flighty and
light-headed?

These questions brought out nothing of tangible advantage, and No. 1
rested apparently well satisfied with the keenness of his record thus
far made. No. 2 now took up the inquiry. He was the squarely built
angular fellow with deep-set eyes, quiet demeanor and few words. His
first question was:

"Has Miss Nash any other friends living in Hollyhill?"

"No, I think not," Marion replied; "no particular friends."

"None that she ever corresponds with?" persisted the man with the
deep-set eyes.

Marion started visibly. Sudden recollection of the letter received by
Helen the day before came to her.

"She got a letter postmarked Hollyhill yesterday," the young hostess
replied.

"Who was it from?"

"I don't know. I didn't know that she was corresponding with anybody
in the town. But the address on the envelope looked as if it was
written by a man."

"Do you suppose you could find that letter?"

"I'll go upstairs and look," Marion said, suiting the action to the
word.

In a few minutes she returned with a waste paper basket in her hands.

"Helen was sharing my room with me," she said. "A letter has been torn
up and thrown in the basket. As I didn't do it, it must be Helen's."

"This begins to look like