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I will not attempt to describe the many curious sights and
experiences we saw and had. I could readily believe that any one
who spent even as little time as we did might almost think that
the very world was going rapidly insane. There were literally
thousands of names in the lists which we examined patiently, going
through them all, since Kennedy was not at all sure that Thornton
might not be a first name, and we had no time to waste on taking
any chances.
It was not until long after dusk that, weary with the search and
dust-covered from our hasty scouring of the country in an
automobile which Kennedy had hired after exhausting the city
institutions, we came to a small private asylum up in Westchester.
I had almost been willing to give it up for the day, to start
afresh on the morrow, but Kennedy seemed to feel that the case was
too urgent to lose even twelve hours over.
It was a peculiar place, isolated, out-of-the-way, and guarded by
a high brick wall that enclosed a pretty good sized garden.
A ring at the bell brought a sharp-eyed maid to the door.


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