nodded. His eyes took on the 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 and in a vicious temper when he reached the camp. He knew it was his destination because, on a wide porch facing the west, he came upon his friend and former schoolmate, John Matthews, snugly rolled in his blankets, sound asleep. Jimmy took this sleep as a personal affront. As if jeering at his own sleeplessness, Matthews emitted a faint snore.

Jimmy cat-footed it down to the lake, scooped up a bucketful of water and went back to Matthews.

The blond young giant awoke sputtering and strangling. Through the haze he saw something that reminded him of his friend Jimmy Hale, red-eyed, dust-covered, grinning at him. He himself was lying in a pool of water. Jimmy was flourishing a bucket and hissing.

"Get up you lazy dog, get up. What you mean sleeping on such—"

This ended in a frightened squawk. Matthews leaped. One long arm grasped Jimmy. Then both hands had him. Jimmy was carried struggling to the homemade wharf. Thence he was flung into the sparkling waters of the lake. When his head emerged Matthews flung a cake of soap at him.

"Here, you need this, you're dirty."

The puppy, thinking this was a good game, yelped and frolicked.

Out of a window above the sleeping porch there popped a bushy white head, a remarkably high wide brow, deeply sunken blue eyes and, as if accentuating the rest of the remarkable features, bushy black eyebrows.

An irascible voice, in clear, crisp accents came down.

"What is this, what is this, what is this abominable disturbance?"

"Oh, nothing, Professor," responded Matthews. "A tramp came around and—"

"A tramp, here?" Just then the dripping form of Jimmy emerged from the water. "What's that? Who is that? Dear me, it looks like Mr. Hale."

The bushy white head disappeared. In a short time, the old man, clad in pajamas of somber hue, appeared at the door.

Matthews was staring at Jimmy in well simulated disbelief and surprise. "By gosh, you're right, Professor. It does look like Hale. Now who would have thought—"

Professor Brierly glared at his young protégé suspiciously. He stared at Hale.

"But, Mr. Hale is all wet and so are you. Your bedding is—now what kind of prank is that? I came up here for a rest. I—"

"Yes, Professor, Mr. Hale is all wet. He's that way frequently, you know."

"Mr. Hale is—why Mr. Hale you look tired, you're caked with mud.
We did not know you were coming."

Hale briefly explained that he had been taking an involuntary lesson in the geography of the New England states and part of Canada; that he had been driving for something more than twenty-four hours. Professor Brierly hospitably insisted that he take a bath and a rest.

Considerably refreshed, Hale awoke in time for luncheon, when he was introduced to the other members of the household, Norah, Matthews' sister and her little boy Thomas, a nut brown youngster of four summers, between whom and Professor Brierly there had grown up a vast friendship. Thomas addressed the old scientist familiarly as "Pop" an appellation that Professor Brierly would have resented fiercely if used by anyone else.

Politeness forbade him from inquiring for whom the vacant chair at the table was standing when there was a crunching of the gravel outside appraising them of the coming of a visitor. The figure of McCall, District Attorney of New York, loomed through the doorway. They had been conscious for some minutes past of the increasing roar of a small outboard motor which had stopped outside their own, door.

McCall grasped the hand of the newspaperman.

"Well, well, look who's here! A regular family reunion. All that's necessary to make this complete is a murder or two and it would be like old times indeed. What brings the representative of the press here?"

Jimmy briefly told McCall the reason for his visit. McCall nodded and turned to Professor Brierly.

"This is a coincidence, Professor, or, not so much of a coincidence at that. Judge Higginbotham's camp is about two miles down the lake here. I know the judge; my father and the judge's family have spent their summers here for a number of years. Judge Higginbotham heard that you were here and he asked me to tell you that he and the rest of his group would be honored to have you join them on their reunion. This takes place formally tomorrow, July Fourth. Then it is their custom to spend about a week together."

"Swell," glowed Hale, "then you can tell me something about it. I looked in our morgue and couldn't get much. While there are reams and reams written about the individual members of the group, dead and living, there is almost nothing of them as a whole."

McCall's face clouded momentarily, then it cleared. Jimmy's quick eyes noted this momentary disturbance of the District Attorney's placid exterior. His newspaperman's keen mind filed it away. Professor Brierly was leaning forward showing more than his usual interest. He said:

"I shall be happy, of course, to avail myself of the opportunity to meet face to face such an