The station and hotel at Sicamous Junction, overlooking the lovely Mara lake, were full of people--busy officials of different kinds, or excited on-lookers--when Anderson reached them.

The long summer day was just passing into a night that was rather twilight than darkness, and in the lower country the heat was great.

Far away to the north stretched the wide and straggling waters of another and larger lake.

Woods of poplar and cottonwood grew along its swampy shore, and hills, forest clad, held it in a shallow cup flooded with the mingled light of sunset and moonlight.
Anderson was met by a district superintendent, of the name of Dixon, as he descended from the train.

The young man, with whom he was slightly acquainted, looked at him with excitement.
"This is a precious bad business! If you can throw any light upon it, Mr.Anderson, we shall be uncommonly obliged to you--" Anderson interrupted him.
"Is the inquest to be held here ?" "Certainly.