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"Missing?" I echoed: "I take it you don't mean; 'seized at gunpoint and forcibly taken to an unknown alternate destination?'"

Mr. Berkhart chuckled, quite ruefully.

"Would that I did, Doctor. Would that I did!"

"Please, Peter," Sir Anthony gently chided me: "Let him continue."

I apologized; he nodded his acceptance; and, then, he resumed.

"For almost twenty years (due, of course, to the rude interruptions caused by the World War and the Spanish flu), the Detroit Lodge has helped send parentless, under-privileged youth to a summer camp jointly run by the N.C.A.S. and the Young Woodcrafters of America. It's called Camp New Hope, and it lies on the shores of Lake Yo-Tel-T'til. A body of water roughly one mile north of the point-of-equidistance between the Upper Peninsula townships of Rudyard and Kipling, Michigan.* "

"Now, as you might imagine, the aforementioned recent unpleasantnesses have led to a figurative bumper crop of orphans, this year! So, this particular train would be taking a more circuitous route than usual. From Detroit to Chicago, via Michigan City, Indiana. Then, northeastwards to Menominee County, Michigan (the gateway to the Upper Peninsula), via Wisconsin. Picking up all the local orphans possible, en route, so that they could be presented to prospective parents on the camp's opening day! What you might call 'two birds with one charitable stone.' "

"Where and when did these travel plans go awry?" Sir Anthony asked.

"Somewhere between Oshkosh and Green Bay, Wisconsin," Mr. Berkhart replied: "The signalman at Marinette reported them as overdue for passing his tower. So, a two-man hand car was sent out to see if (God forbid!) the train had derailed for some reason. What they found, however, was most unexpected. To say the least!"

"And, what--precisely--did they find?"

"A one-mile long stretch of track, torn in two like a piece of carnival licorice! But, with the ends facing away from each other like a pair of back-to-back parentheses. And, with the gap in between them marked by...footprints. Gigantic...UNSHOD...footprints!"

We quietly waited until Mr. Berkhart had recomposed himself.

"Not knowing what else to do, the two men reported what they found to the nearest stationmaster. He, in turn, reported it to his immediate supervisor, who telephoned the local authorities, who eventually contacted the Milwaukee Lodge."

"And, the President, thereof, contacted your employer," concluded Sir Anthony.

Mr. Berkhart nodded, again.

"Who specifically requested the doctor and I?"

"Mr. Chelgi, sir. The President of the Detroit Lodge. He was most impressed with what he read in that discretely-circulated special report concerning your adroit handling of the... 'Chinatown Chopper' affair."

Whereupon, Sir Anthony finally looked at me.

"Well, how about it, Peter? Do you think you're up for a trip to the North Woods?"

I confess it; my smirk was completely shameless.

"I think the chief administrator, at Queens Mercy Hospital, is about to get another phone call from the police commissioner, requesting my personal assistance on a most 'delicate matter.' "

Within twenty-four hours, we were packed and ready to go.

tbc
Chapter End Notes:
*I'm not making this up, folks! Check MAPQUEST, if you don't believe me.
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