“My relief,” said Salt, presenting Nate Adams to the girls. “I’m free to shove off now.”

“Hope you can start your car,” commented the newcomer. “It’s mighty cold, and the temperature is still dropping.”

Salt’s battered coupe was parked not far from the tower. Snow blanketed the windshield. He wiped it away and after several attempts started the engine.

“Think I’d better stop at the first garage and have more alcohol put in the radiator. No use in taking a chance.”

Salt followed the same road over which the girls had trudged an hour earlier. In passing the estate not far from Old Henry’s cabin, Penny peered with renewed interest at the big house. In the blinding snow storm she could not be sure, but she thought a light gleamed from an upstairs window.

“Salt,” she inquired, “who lives in that place?”

“Can’t tell you,” he replied, without turning his head.

“Does anyone live there now?”

“Haven’t seen anyone since I took over as observer at the tower. Nate Adams tells me the estate has a private air field. No planes have taken off or landed while I’ve been on duty.”

“I thought I saw a light just now in an upstairs window.”

“Probably a reflection from the car headlights,” Salt answered carelessly.

The car passed Old Henry’s cabin and crept on until it came to a crossroad. Several buildings were clustered on either side of the main highway.

“Guess I’ll stop at Mattie’s garage,” Salt said.

As he pulled up on a gravel runway, a masculine looking woman came to the door of the car. She was in her mid-thirties and wore a man’s coat much too large for her. The girls guessed, and correctly, that she was Mattie Williams, owner of the garage and filling station.

“How many will you have?” she asked Salt, briskly clearing the windshield of snow.

The photographer replied that he did not require gasoline, but wanted at least a quart of alcohol.

“Drive into the garage,” the woman instructed, opening a pair of double doors. “I’ll have Sam take care 

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