Chapter XI. A Fruitless Chase

The more Joe thought over the matter the more he became convinced that he was right. He remembered a good deal of the talk he had overheard during the storm, although such talk had, for the time being, been driven from his mind by the tragic death of old Hiram Bodley.

"If they are working some game what can this Maurice Vane have to do with it?" he asked himself.

He thought it best to get back to the hotel at once, and tell Mr. Mallison of his suspicions. But, as luck would have it, scarcely had he started to row his boat again when an oarlock broke, and so it took him the best part of an hour to make the trip.

"Where is Mr. Mallison?" he asked of the clerk of the hotel.

"Out in the stable, I believe," was the answer.

Without waiting, our hero ran down to the stable and found the hotel proprietor inspecting some hay that had just been unloaded.

"I'd like to speak to you a moment, Mr. Mallison," he said. "It's important," and he motioned for the man to follow him.

"What is it, Joe?"

"It's about those men who called to see that sick man, and about the sick man, too."

"He has gone--all of them have gone."

"What!" ejaculated our hero. "The sick man, too?"

"Exactly. But he didn't go with the others. While they were here he was in bed, but right after they left he arose, dressed himself, and drove away."

"Where did he go to?"

"I don't know."

"Do you know what became of the other two men?"

"I do not. But what's up? Is there anything wrong?" questioned the hotel proprietor, with a look of concern on his face.

"I am afraid there is," answered Joe, and told his tale from beginning to end.

"That's an odd sort of a yarn, Joe. It's queer you didn't recognize the men before.

"It is queer, sir, but I can't help that. It flashed over me just as I looked into the window of the old lodge."

"You haven't made any mistake?"

"No, sir."

"Humph!" Andrew Mallison mused for a moment. "I don't really see what I can do in the matter. We can't prove that those men are wrongdoers, can we?"

"Not unless they tried some game on this Mr. Maurice Vane."

"They may have sold him some worthless mining shares. That sort of a trick is rather old."

"I think we ought to make a search for this David Ball, or Malone, or whatever his name is."

"I'm willing to do that."

After questioning half a dozen people they learned that the pretended sick man had driven off in the direction of a village called Hopedale.

"What made him go there, do you