The boy was Bert Dodge, son of the missing banker, and one of the best football men of the senior class of Gridley High School.
"It's odd that we can't find where the trail leads to," the eavesdroppers heard Hemingway mutter presently.
"I'm afraid," replied young Dodge, with a slight choke in his voice, "that our failure is due to the fact that water doesn't leave any trail." "So you think your father drowned himself ?" asked Hemingway, looking sharply at the banker's son.
"If he didn't, then some one must have pushed him into the river," argued Bert, in an unsteady voice.
"And I'm just about as much of the opinion," retorted Hemingway, "that your father left his hat and coat here, or sent them here, and didn't even get his feet wet." "That's preposterous," argued the son, half indignantly.
"Well, there is the spot, right there, where the hat and coat were found.

Now, for a hundred feet away, either up or down stream, the ground is soft.

Yet there are no tracks such as your father would have left had he taken to the water close to where he left his discarded garments," argued Hemingway, swinging his lantern about.
"We've pretty well trodden down whatever footprints might have been here," disputed Bert Dodge.

"I shan't feel satisfied until daylight comes and we've had a good chance to have the river dragged." "Well, of course, it is possible you know of a reason that would make your father throw himself into the river ?" guessed Officer Hemingway, with a shrewd glance at the son.
"Neither my mother nor I know anything about my father that would supply a reason for his suicide," retorted Bert Dodge stiffly.
"But I can't see any reason for believing anything except that my poor dad must now be somewhere in the river." "We'll soon be able to do the best that we can do by night," rejoined Hemingway.

"Chief Coy has gone after a gasoline launch that carries an electric search-light.