“Midnight, eh?” mused Frank. “That was Stet’s dark and deadly hour. I say--if it isn’t Stet on hand!” Some pebbles struck the upper closed sash of the room in which Frank slept. Beyond the wire screen covering the lower half of the window Frank made out a form moving to and fro. “Hist!” sounded out. “Yes, Stet,” said Frank, slipping out of bed, “I hear you. Well?” “It’s me,” said Stet. “Lift up the screen, will you?” “Oh, want to come in!” “I don’t, but I do want to give you something.” “Why, what is this?” asked Frank, as lifting the screen Stet shoved a round package into his hand. “It’s your missing mailing lists.” “And where did you get them?” “Dale Wacker has been using them ever since he started in business,” explained Stet. “Where he got them is easy to guess.” “From Markham, of course.” “That’s it. This was my first chance to get away from them. Say, there’s Wacker and his partner. They’re up to the worst swindle you ever heard of. They’ve taken in a big lot of money. They’re booked to leave to-morrow, so I sneaked the lists out of the outfit. I’m not going back to them.” “Why, then--” “I’m going down to Hazelhurst,” proceeded Stet. Frank was surprised that Stet should mention the very place he had most in his mind. “To Hazelhurst?” he repeated curiously. “Yes. From something I heard Wacker say to his partner, I am pretty sure that Wacker has got Markham hidden away or a prisoner somewhere around Hazelhurst.” “Why, Stet,” said Frank, “I have thought that, too. I was going there myself to-morrow, only some important business hinders me.” “Tell you what I’ll do,” suggested Stet; “let me see what I can find at Hazelhurst. There’s going to be a big blow-up with Wacker & Co. to-morrow. As I have sort of been in with them, maybe it would be best for me to keep out of the way so I won’t get hit with any of the pieces.” “What do you mean by a blow up, Stet?” inquired Frank. “’Splosion.” “Indeed?” “Sure thing! Say about ten o’clock to-morrow morning you hang around Main Street Block, and see what a telegram I sent to-day is going to fetch the United States Mail Order House.” CHAPTER XXVII THE POST-OFFICE INSPECTOR “Now then, my friend, behave yourself.” “Haven’t I paid the damages?” “You have, but don’t get into any further expensive mischief.” “H’m!” observed the victim of Dale Wacker’s mail order swindle, “that’s to be seen, if I ever get my hands on the real fellow who robbed me. As to you, stranger,” to Frank, “just send in your bill double. Sorry I disturbed you, but we all make mistakes.” “No, Mr. Halsey,” replied Frank, “I only ask you to pay the cost of that window you smashed and the door you broke.” “How much--let me settle it now,” urged Halsey. “I’ll trust you,” said Frank. “I will send the bill when the carpenter gets the repairs done.”