“Be careful, then,” North admonished him. “I’ll hold the light.”
A good, strong flashlight illumined the old well, and Rod Granniss clambered down its stone sides.
But he returned with the same message Dunn had brought.
“All dried up; nothing down there but a muddy bottom and moss-grown stones.”
“No stones missing?”
“No; all solid and complete. I gave it a most careful scrutiny, for I don’t want to have to go down again.”
“Well, that finishes the cellar, then.”
“Yes; and finishes the house. You must admit, Lawrence, there’s no possible chance of Betty Varian being in this house, dead or alive.”
“Of course, I admit that,—but, what, then?”
“I can’t even suggest! Can you?”