ll go over to the
Club. We may find Allison there now."

As we turned out into the main road our driver had to swerve for a car
which turned off, coming from the city, as we had come a few minutes
before. He looked around at it blackly, as it went up the road to the
Allison house, for he had had to stall his own engine to avoid a
collision. There was no one in the other car but a driver with a visored
hat.

"Whose car was that?" asked Craig quickly.

"Allan Wyndham's," answered our driver, starting his engine.

"H'm," mused Craig. "Wyndham must have sent her a message from town. Too
bad we hurried so to get up here."

At last, as we turned a bend in the main road, the broad chimneys, white
columns and wide balustrades of the Briar Lake Country Club loomed in
sight.

The Country Club was a most pretentious building, yet, unlike many such
clubs, had a very hospitable air in spite of its aristocratic and
handsome appearance.

There was something very inviting about its wide sweep of roof and ample
piazzas, some enclosed in glass, as we approached by the broad graveled
driveway that swung in from the highway between the gentle curves of
green lawns whose expanse was broken by the tall pines through which we
caught a glimpse of the hills. It was indeed a beautiful country.

We entered a wide hall and came to the reception room crowded with
luxurious armchairs and cozy corners. In a glass case stood the usual
trophies.

Grouped about a huge deep fire was a knot of people, and here and there
others were talking earnestly. One could feel that this was one of those
social institutions not to be in which argued that one was decidedly
out of things. I could almost visualize the close scrutiny that new
applicants would undergo, not so much as men among men, but through the
eyes of the women folk, dissecting the wives and daughters of the
family.

Founded originally because of the interest of the older members in
horses and the hunt, the Club had now extended its activities to polo
and motors, golf, tennis, squash, with a fine old English bowling green
and ample shooting traps.

I could not blame Mrs. Ferris for not wishing to enter the Club just
yet. She had left us at the door, promising to send the car back for our
disposal.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE VACUUM BOTTLE

Fortunately, Dean Allison was at the Club, as we hoped, having just
arrived by the train that left New York at the close of the banking day.
Som