Meantime, the energetic reporter had communicated with his office, and a member of the artist staff armed with a kodak had been sent to his assistance. When the wagon was being loaded the second time, one of the mysterious boxes was quickly sketched by the half-concealed penciler and a snap-shot was taken at the team and the teamsters. On leaving the Assay Office the second time the wagon started up town at a rapid trot. The reporter was quite prepared for this move. He jumped into a cab which had waited for him around the corner in Nassau Street and he easily kept the heavy team in sight. Before reaching City Hall Park, two of the men jumped off and disappeared down a side street. The reporter would have liked to follow them, but it seemed more important to keep on after the team. The driver continued north through the Bowery and Third Avenue to East Seventeenth Street. Then he turned east for a couple of blocks and suddenly drove through an open gate into what seemed to be a small private stable. The high board gate was closed as soon as the team entered. The reporter dismissed his cab and reconnoitered. The team apparently did not belong to a public truckman; for that matter it bore no name or number according to city requirement, and there was no business announcement upon the stable entrance or the adjoining house. There was nothing to be learned by observation, so the newspaper man resolved on a bold stroke. Going to the stable gate, he tried to push it open, and then knocked loudly. He got no response. He repeated the summons two or three times without result. Then he went to the adjoining house and rang the bell. The door was opened presently by a young girl. “Will you please tell your father that a gentleman from Strong & Co.’s office would like to see him?” remarked the young man in his most urbane manner. “Yes, sir. Will you walk in?” said the child. The young man congratulated himself and took a seat in the reception room. Presently the driver of the wagon, looking like a well-to-do man of affairs and not like a truckman, came into the room. He looked at his caller sharply, saying, “You come from Strong & Co.?” “Yes, I am not in their office, but I was just too late to see you this morning,” responded the caller with the most business-like air he could assume. “I wanted to see you about the transfer of some bullion--similar work to that which you are doing for Strong & Co.” “Oh, no, you don’t, young man,” interrupted the other in cold sarcasm as he opened the door. “You were not sent here by Strong & Co., and you don’t want any bullion moved. You are either a newspaper reporter or you are trying to pry into Strong & Co.’s affairs for some Wall Street concern. Good morning,” and the big man made a suggestive motion toward the front door.