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White ran the car at great speed for perhaps two hours; then we pulled up by the roadside and stopped.

Before we got out of the car I had an explanation of Mooney’s occult device against the bloodhound.

There was a mist of fog. It had begun to gather over the lowland. We had noticed it—a white blanket lying on the fields as we came along. It was now rising, but it came up slowly as though it were a sort of impalpable stratum formed mysteriously out of the earth and extending, under some mathematical direction, upward. It was like a piece of enchantment in the manner in which the thing arose. It now lay on the world about us extending to the macadam road.

Mooney took a flash light out of his pocket.

It was not the usual cylinder affair. It was, rather, a little squat lantern with a bull’s-eye bulb; thick—necessarily so, I imagine—for there was a powerful light concentrated on the small disc and it, therefore, required a considerable battery.

He looked at the clock on the motor.

“We shall have some time to wait,” he said, “but the fog may increase and we ought to look over the ground.”