"
"Certainly I do. Mr. Keene is about four miles from your place, at a
small cabin in the woods--"
"Indeed! How did he come to be in such a place?"
"He was on somebody's trail."
"You are acquainted with Mr. Keene?"
"Yes."
"Your name is Henry Jones?"
"It is."
"Why did you not come for me in person without writing the letter?"
"That might have been the proper way, but I am not like other people, Mr.
Bordine. I am considered a peculiar man. It was a freak of mine, I
suppose, that I did not do as you say. Fact is, I did not think it
possible for me to leave Keene at the time I wrote the letter."
"You afterward found him better?"
"Slightly, yes."
"Is he badly hurt?"
"He will die."
"In what manner was he injured?"
"He was flung from a horse."
"In the city?"
"No, in the woods while he was in pursuit of a burglar."
"Indeed!"
Then the young engineer fell to thinking deeply. He was not exactly
satisfied with the situation of affairs. He was well assured of one
thing, however, and that was that something had happened to Silas Keene,
and it seemed that the mystery of the detective's disappearance was
likely to be revealed this night.
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