As he moved from his position of safety there came another gust. More furious than any that had gone before, it threatened to lift him from the earth and hurl him into the lake. But, stooping low, all but crawling, he made headway and, just as the lull came, gripped the top rail of the trestle on which the O Moo had rested.
Hardly had he seized it than his hand slipped and he went sprawling.
“That’s strange!” he muttered, “Awful slippery!”
Removing one glove, he felt of the other.
“Grease!” he muttered in blank astonishment. “Somebody’s greased that track.”
Then, with the suspicion of treachery dawning upon him, he glanced up at the spot where the O Moo should have been.
“Gone!” he exclaimed. “The O Moo’s gone! And six hours ago, she was here. I’d swear it. Saw it with my own eyes. Light in the window. Girls there. Now she’s gone and the girls with her. Gone in such a storm! What madness!” Again he thought of the greased track. “No! No! What treachery!”
From his pocket he drew a flashlight. He meant to examine that track. It had been heavily greased all the way down to the water. That the iron wheels of the car on which the O Moo had rested had passed down the track, there could be no doubt. Mingled with the grease there was much iron rust.
Drawing from his pocket a used envelope, he scraped a quantity of the grease into it, then replaced the envelope.
“Evidence,” he said grimly. “Might not be worth much; might mean a lot.”