Within himself he resolved to solve this problem at the first opportunity; but just at this moment the opportunity was receding. 

 Far and clear against the sky-line, he could see from his window two mounted figures. Miss Ravenden and her father were riding to Amagansett, to be gone, as he learned later with disgust, all day. Helga Johnston had gone up to the lighthouse to stay until the following morning, and Haynes was working on his investigation of Petersen’s death. 

 Nothing was left for the lone guest except to amuse himself as best he might. 

 The morning he spent in wandering meditation. Leisure for thought is a quick developer of certain processes. The Ravendens were to be at Third House for the month, he understood. One might get very well acquainted in a month, under favourable circumstances. At present the immediate circumstances were far from favourable. But Dick slapped the pocketbook to which he had transferred his keepsake from Miss Ravenden. 

 “That’ll break some ice, I guess,” he observed. 

 At dinner he contemplated a vacant place with an expression of such unhappiness that old Johnston took pity on him. 

 “The white perch’ll likely be risin’ in the lake yonder this evening,” he said. 

 Here was antidote for any bane. Dick took his rod and went. The fish nobly fulfilled Johnston’s word of them, and Dick had just landed a handsome one, when glancing up he saw a net moving along the line of a small ridge. 

 “The bug-hunter,” he surmised. 

 “Oh, Professor Ravenden!” he called; and was instantly stricken with the dilemma: “What the dickens shall I say to him?” 

 The net paused, half-revolved and ascended, and Dick gasped as not Professor Ravenden, but his daughter, mounted the ridge. 

 “Did you want my father?” she asked. 

 “Oh—er—ah, good-evening, Miss Ravenden,” stammered Colton. “I—I—I’ve been wanting to see you.” 

 “There is some mistake,” said she coldly. “I don’t know who you are.” 

 “My name is Colton,” he said. “I’m staying at Third House, and——” 

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