"Is it true?" he demanded hoarsely, his hand still on the knob.
"Sit down, Brewster, and control yourself," said Ripley.
"Good God, man, can't you see I am calm?" cried Monty. "Go on—tell me all about it. What do you know? What have you heard?"
"He cannot be found, that's all," announced Ripley, with deadly intentness. "I don't know what it means. There is no explanation. The whole thing is inconceivable. Sit down and I will tell you everything as quickly as possible."
"There isn't much to tell," said Grant, mechanically.
"I can take it better standing," declared Brewster, shutting his jaws tightly.
"Jones was last seen in Butte on the third of this month," said Ripley. "We sent several telegrams to him after that day, asking when he expected to leave for New York. They never were claimed and the telegraph company reported that he could not be found. We thought he might have gone off to look after some of his property and were not uneasy. Finally we began to wonder why he had not wired us on leaving for the east. I telegraphed him again and got no answer. It dawned
