he gleam they always held when
there was a good story in sight. Canada, with Professor Brierly
available, with Jack Matthews, with good beer and ale and the
possibility of a good story, with all expenses paid, might be a
good idea after all.

Chapter II

About two-thirds of the thirty-odd miles of Lake Memphremagog
lies in Canada, Province of Quebec. The lower third lies in
Vermont, with Lentone near its extreme southern tip, Magog at its
northern extremity.

A few miles above the international border on its eastern shore
nestled the rough, comfortable camp that District Attorney McCall,
of New York, had turned over for the use of his friend, Professor
Brierly, and the immediate members of his household. These
comprised John Matthews, Professor Brierly's adopted son and
principal assistant; Matthews' sister, Norah, who had recently
lost her husband; her four-year-old son, Thomas, and Professor
Brierly's housekeeper, Martha, who had been quite certain that
without her capable presence, the old savant would be grossly
neglected, suffer and die.

Jimmy Hale had elected to drive. July Fourth of that year falling
on a Friday, he had decided to start his vacation, nominally, on
the following Monday, July 7, actually, on the morning of July
second. He argued logically that it might take several of his
vacation days to clean up the story. Hite not offering any
objections to this, Jimmy started shortly after midnight,
Wednesday morning.

The fates were unkind to him. He ran into a rain storm in
Connecticut, which followed him through most of Massachusetts.
Shortly after he left Brattleboro, Vermont, behind him, he asked
two separate individuals for the shortest road to his destination.
Each gave him instructions that varied considerably from the
other. He decided to follow the direction of the one who looked
most intelligent and became lost.

He crossed the Connecticut River several times. His geography
being rather sketchy, he became confused by the fact that he
appeared to be in New Hampshire part of the time. Then he got lost
in Canada, which feat is fairly easy for the stranger.

It was nearly six o'clock in the morning of July third, when he
found the camp, about two miles off the road. He bumped over
rutted paths through rough, plowed and unplowed fields several
miles before he finally arrived. A friendly fox-terrier puppy
fawned on him and friskily led him to a porch.

Jimmy was red-eyed, tired, haggard