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The Allison house proved to be a roomy, old-fashioned place on a rise of ground just this side of Briar Lake, for the Allisons had been among the first to acquire estates at the exclusive colony.

Mrs. Ferris remained in the car, while Kennedy and I went in to introduce ourselves.

We found the young society girl evidently now in full possession of her nerves. She was slender, fair, with deep blue eyes, not merely pretty, but with a face that showed character.

Anita Allison had been seated in the library, and, as we entered, I could see that she had hastily shoved some papers, at which she had been looking, into a drawer of the desk.

“Miss Allison,” began Kennedy, “this is a most unfortunate affair and I must beg your pardon–“

“Yes,” she interrupted, “I understand. As if I didn’t feel badly enough–oh–they have to make it all so much harder to bear by arresting Fraser–and then all this notoriety,–it is awful.”

I confess that I had not expected that we would see her so easily. Yet I felt that there was some constraint in her manner, in spite of that.

“I want to speak frankly with you, Miss Allison,” went on Craig gently. “Is there anything about the matter–of a personal nature–that you haven’t told? I want to appeal to you. Remember, there is another life at stake, now.”

She looked at us searchingly. Did she suspect that we knew something or was she herself seeking information?

“No, no,” she cried. “There isn’t a thing–not a thing that I know that I haven’t told–nothing.”

Kennedy said nothing himself, but watched her, apparently assuming that she would go on.

“Oh,” she cried, “if I could only do something–anything. It might get my mind off it all. But I–I can’t even cry!”

Plainly there was little except a sort of mental vivisection of her grief to be gained from her yet–even if she suspected something, of which I was not entirely sure.

We excused ourselves and left her, sunk deeply into a leather chair, her face buried in her hands, but not weeping.

“Is Mr. Allison at home?” inquired Craig as we passed out through the hall, meeting the butler at the door.

“No, sir,” he replied. “He went to New York this morning, sir, and said he’d be at the Club later this afternoon.”

We climbed into the car and Kennedy looked at his watch. “It’s getting well along in the afternoon,” he remarked. “I think I’ll go over to the Club. We may find Allison there now.”

As we turned out into the main road our driver had to swerve for a car which turned off, coming from the city, as we had come a few minutes before. He looked around at it blackly, as it went up the road to the Allison house, for he had had to stall his own engine to avoid a collision. There was no one in the other car but a driver with a visored hat.

“Whose car was that?” asked Craig quickly.

“Allan Wyndham’s,” answered our driver, starting his engine.

“H’m,” mused Craig. “Wyndham must have sent her a message from town. Too bad we hurried so to get up here.”

At last, as we turned a bend in the main road, the broad chimneys, white columns and wide balustrades of the Briar Lake Country Club loomed in sight.

The Country Club was a most pretentious building, yet, unlike many such clubs, had a very hospitable air in spite of its aristocratic and handsome appearance.

There was something very inviting about its wide sweep of roof and ample piazzas, some enclosed in glass, as we approached by the broad graveled driveway that swung in from the highway between the gentle curves of green lawns whose expanse was broken by the tall pines through which we caught a glimpse of the hills. It was indeed a beautiful country.

We entered a wide hall and came to the reception room crowded with luxurious armchairs and cozy corners. In a glass case stood the usual trophies.

Grouped about a huge deep fire was a knot of people, and here and there others were talking earnestly. One could feel that this was one of those social institutions not to be in which argued that one was decidedly out of things. I could almost visualize the close scrutiny that new applicants would undergo, not so much as men among men, but through the eyes of the women folk, dissecting the wives and daughters of the family.

Founded originally because of the interest of the older members in horses and the hunt, the Club had now extended its activities to polo and motors, golf, tennis, squash, with a fine old English bowling green and ample shooting traps.

I could not blame Mrs. Ferris for not wishing to enter the Club just yet. She had left us at the door, promising to send the car back for our disposal.