THE TRAIL WAS NOT A difficult one to follow. The night was particularly black, with low-hanging clouds which seemed to hold a threat of rain, and the wind sighed dolefully through the scrub pines. Against this dim murkiness the figure of the woman in white stood out ghostily.
“Poor Minnie Webb!” mused Colonel Ashley, as he hurried on after her. “She must be desperate now—after what she heard. I wonder—”
He did not put his wonder into words then, but his suspicion was confirmed as he saw her head for the bridge that spanned a creek, not far from where the ferry ran over to Loch Harbor.
At certain times this creek was not deep enough to afford passage for small rowboats, but when the tide was in there was draught enough for motor launches.
“And the tide is in now,” mused the colonel, as
