"Wilson and Morrow."
"Hem! And they, likewise, seem to have disappeared, most unluckily for you."
"So it seems," said Frank, gloomily. "I'm sure I don't understand it any more than you."
"We'll understand it better by and by," replied the detective, quietly. "Meanwhile, think the matter over, if you will allow me to offer my advice, and make up your mind to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. You'll find it will pay you better in the end."
"Schneider," he added, turning abruptly to the policeman who had been a silent witness to the scene, "take this young man to the New Church street station, and let him be held until I come."
"Very good, Mr. Hook," replied the officer.
Without another word he took Frank by the arm and led him through the hall and out into the street.
The snow was still falling, sidewalk and roofs, church-yard and wall, everything within range of the eye, was clothed in a mantle of white.
"Now, den, de nex' question is how ve not our necks already preak," muttered the officer, with a strong German accent, as he moved heavily down the sloping sidewalk toward New Church street, which skirts the rear of the burial ground at the bottom of the hill.
For he was a clumsy man, and had evidently no wish to measure the length of his Teutonic form upon the slippery walk beneath his feet.