Hope died hard in Colonel Wiljohn's breast. His mind told him that the shrill "woman screams" that had lured Hal to this place could only have been the panther's call--so like a woman crying in distress. To satisfy himself, however, the Colonel searched every possible part of the floating, careening old house. With an axe he forced an entrance through the warped, swollen doors to the three upper rooms, searched closets and cupboards. He found no woman and child hiding away from that other passenger,--the great, tawny panther cat. A pitiful litter of clothes, books, a few small toys, deserted when the home-dwellers had to flee for their lives, was the only reward for his search.