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176 is Doctor Wilbur Hunneker and my friend's is Edward Triteham."

"You wait here for me," said the District Attorney, quickly making a decision. "I'm going to run down there. If some one is hanging around that house I want to know who it is and what they want. Will you wait here until I return?"

"Certainly," Hunky replied. "Or I'll go with you if you like."

"No," the other quickly answered, getting into his roadster. "I'll go it alone. See you later."

E SHOT off down the road in a cloud of powdery dust.

Hunky and I went into the cool interior of the country store and regaled ourselves with root beer and the store-keeper's conversation, which for the moment was wholly of the young District Attorney. He was a most remarkable county official, we were told.

It seemed but a moment when the subject of the talk was back in another swirl of dust. He jumped out of his car. We went out to meet him.

"Gone," he said laconically to our inquiring look. "But somebody was there all right. What the devil they wanted is more than I can fathom. Nothing disturbed—isn't much to disturb. But it bothers me. You're sure about that gun?" His eyes bored us.

Hunky faced him.

"Quite," he said quietly. "I know guns. Also, I know the look in eyes behind them. I'm a physician and I have to know people. This old woman had some good reason for wanting to scare us away."

"I know that," replied the young man, with his mouth set in a line. "Guns and deserted houses don't make a very reassuring picture."

"Did you look all around the house?" inquired my friend.

"Sure. Probably those old eyes were on me while I was doing it. She couldn't have gone far; possibly she was in the woods nearby. I made only a cursory examination so as not to excite suspicion if she or anybody else had been watching. Now let's see, what's back of that house. The old wood lot—a pasture"

"That's all," spoke up the store-keeper. "Then the railroad cuts through beyond that."

"Railroad!" said the District Attorney sharply. "Why, that's about the point where that wreck was yesterday afternoon."

"Yes," replied the store-keeper. "The pasture lot runs right down to the bend, and it was on that bend that the cars left the track."

"By George! you're right," exclaimed the District Attorney.

He seemed to ponder the situation for a few moments. Then he made a movement as if to be off.

"I won't detain you gentlemen," he said quickly. "If you want to fish you'd better be on your way. Just about time to make it before sundown."

Hunky smiled.

"I'm not so keen on fishing as my friend Triteham here," he said quietly. "I'd much rather go along with you to see that wreck."

The District Attorney eyed him carefully. Then:

"All right. I'd be glad of your company if you feel that way about it."

"Something tells me I had better leave the fish to their watery beds today," said I.

"All right," answered our new acquaintance.

And the three of us started on a brisk walk in what seemed a circuitous direction. The District Attorney knew the lay of the land, and after about twenty minutes we came upon the railroad tracks. Here we turned back in the direction of the deserted house.

In about three quarters of an hour we came distant view of the wreck around a bend. A railroad gang