Elaine cautiously came from behind a rock where she had hidden herself and seeing no one apparently watching, now, advanced until she stood directly under the trickle of water which had once been the falls.  She gazed into the cave, curiously uncertain whether she dared to go in alone or not.

The emissary jerked fiercely at the lever as he saw Elaine.

Above the falls a dam had been built and by a system of levers the gates could be operated so that the water could be thrown over the falls or diverted away, at will.  As the man pressed the lever, the flood gates worked quickly.

Elaine stood gazing eagerly into the blackness of the cave.  Just then a great volume of water from above crashed down on her, with almost crushing weight.

How she lived through it she never knew.  But, fortunately, she had not gone quite far enough to get the full force of the water.  Still, the terrific flood easily overcame her.

She was swept, screaming, down the stream.

. . . . . . .

Rather alarmed at the strange disappearance of Elaine after I brought her home, I had started out along the road to the shore to look for her, thinking that she might perhaps have returned there.

As I walked along a young tough—­at least at the time I thought it was a young tough, so good was the disguise she had assumed and so well did she carry it off—­slouched past me.

What such a character could be doing in the neighborhood I could not see.  But he was so noticeably tough that I turned and looked.  He kept his eyes averted as if afraid of being recognized.

“Great Caesar,” I muttered to myself, “that’s a roughneck.  This place is sure getting to be a hang-out for gunmen.”

I shrugged my shoulders and continued my walk.  It was no business of mine.  Finding no trace of Elaine, I returned to the house.  Aunt Josephine was in the library, alone.

“Where’s Elaine?” I asked anxiously.

“I don’t know,” she replied.  “I don’t think she’s at home.”  “Well, I can’t find her anywhere,” I frowned wandering out at a loss what to do, and thrusting my hands deep in my pockets as an aid to thought.

Somehow, I felt, I didn’t seem to get on well as a detective without Kennedy.  Yet, so far, a kind providence seemed to have watched over us.  Was it because we were children—­or—­I rejected that alternative.

Walking along leisurely I made my way down to the shore.  At a bridge that crossed a rather turbulent stream as it tumbled its way toward the sea, I paused and looked at the water reflectively.

Suddenly my vagrant interest was aroused.  Up the stream I saw some one struggling in the water and shouting for help as the current carried her along, screaming.