Fortunately the policeman paid no further
attention to my movements after I left him. I sat down on the empty
cradle and stared up through the opening in the roof, hoping against hope
to see them coming back. It must have been midnight before I gave up my
vigil in despair, and went home, sorely puzzled, and blaming myself for
having kept my suspicions unuttered. I finally got to sleep, but I had
horrible dreams.
"The next day I was up early looking through all the papers in the hope
of finding something about the car. But there was not a word. I watched
the news columns for several days without result. Whenever the coast was
clear I haunted Stonewall's yard, but the fatal shed yawned empty, and
there was not a soul about the house. I cannot describe my feelings. My
friends seemed to have been snatched away by some mysterious agency, and
the horror of the thing almost drove me crazy. I felt that I was, in a
manner, responsible for their disappearance.
"One day my heart sank at the sight of a cousin of Jack Ashton's
motioning to me in the street. He approached, with a troubled look. 'Mr.
Church,' he said, 'I think you know me; can you tell me what has become
of Jack? I haven't seen him for several days.
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