“Mrs. Ismond does not rightfully owe him a cent,” asserted Markham. “It’s a mean, malicious trick of the old reprobate to persecute my friend, Frank Newton. Can they stop the car?” The station agent shrugged his shoulders dubiously. “They won’t get any help from me,” he said. “That man asked me where the car was. I told him to find out--I wasn’t hunting for it. I’d like nothing better than to delay him for two hours. By five o’clock the north freights will have left the yards. Once out of the county, that furniture would be safe.” “Thank you,” said Markham. “I’ll see what I can do.” He ran out of the depot forthwith. Sherry had crossed the road. Markham saw him coming out of one of the taverns lining the street in that immediate vicinity. Sherry had one or two men with him with whom he had evidently been treating. They walked along with him until they reached another haunt of the same class, and went in there. Markham got in a doorway near the entrance to the place. In a few minutes Sherry came out to the street. He had his hat stuck back and his head up by this time, and was officious and blatant in his manner. “I’d like to stay with you, boys,” he announced. “Join you later. Got a big responsibility on my shoulders just now.” “That so?” smirked one of the hangers on. “You bet. See that paper?” and Sherry produced a document. “We see it.” “I can tie up the whole railroad system here if I want to,” he bragged. Markham hurried off in the direction of the freight tracks. There was a wide crossing where the sidings began. A flagman guarded this. Markham ran up to him. This man, as he knew, was a brother of the railroader he had saved from being run over by the freight train. “Mr. Boyce,” said Markham, “will you do me a favor?” “Sure, will I,” cried the flagman. “We’re a whole family of friends to you, boy.” “All right. Have you got a piece of chalk--the kind they use for marking on the cars?” “Dozens of it. Here’s a handful, my hearty,” and the flagman darted into the little shanty and out again with a fistful of great chunks of chalk. “All right,” said Markham, selecting a piece. “Now then, do you see that man coming down the track?” “Yes,” nodded the flagman. “He will ask you about the out freights, maybe about some particular car. It’s the car holding Frank Newton’s furniture that he’s after--their household goods they’re shipping to Pleasantville.” “Aha,” nodded Boyce. “I will be in sight,” went on Markham, rapidly. “Point me out to him. Say I can tell him, will you?” “But what for--no, that’s all right. I will, I will,” pledged the flagman. Markham ran down a siding. He was busy about a certain car for a few minutes. As, after interviewing the flagman, Sherry came that way, he discovered Markham seated on top of a locked box car idly kicking his heels against its side. “Hey, hello,” hailed Sherry--“this the out freights?” “How should I know?” muttered Markham.