It was past midnight and the silence of the night was broken only by the tread of some weary watchman on duty or the hurried step of some belated traveler. At this unusual time for boys to be abroad, Rodney Darringford and Tim Downey met at the street corner designated by the former. The first looked anxiously around him as if he expected to see an enemy suddenly spring into his path. The second, more hardened in such nefarious work as they had been doing, showed little, if any, trepidation, as he faced his companion with the simple word: “Well?” “Where you going, Tim?” “To a restaurant first to see if I cannot get a bite to eat, or mebbe a lunch cart will answer us best.” “All right; go ahead. I will pay the bill.” “Guess I can afford it myself.” “You got some money from father?” “I stung him for two hundred,” was the cool reply. “What’s for?” “That’s telling.” “Was it in regard to the new steamer?” “Yep.” “What about that?” “Puff!” was the mysterious reply. “Explain,” cried Rodney, catching him by the arm, while a feeling of terror he could not exactly understand took possession of him. “The _Spray_ goes up in smoke!” The troubled look on Rodney’s countenance deepened. “Did father want you to do that, Tim?” “That’s what he paid me for.” “That’s bad work.” “What’s the odds? Needn’t trouble ye. ’Twill burn while ye sleep. Two trusty fellers do the work. Who’s the wiser?” Rodney shook his head, sorry that his father had fallen into the power of such an unscrupulous person as his companion. He did not realize yet how completely he was being drawn into the tangled web of crime. “Let’s get our lunch as soon as we can. I have an appointment an hour hence.” “With the fellow who was to see Dean Mercer?” “Yes.” Half an hour later this same precious couple entered a miserable basement saloon, where even at that unseemly hour the sound of coarse revelry greeted their ears. A man was waiting for them at the door--the same person who had met Dean Mercer on the _Spray_ and obtained Judge Oglesby’s check in payment for the steamer. “Have you got it?” demanded Rodney, eagerly. “You bet,” handing the other the strip of paper which meant so much. “Here’s your two hundred.” “It’s not enough,” muttered the man. “I want an extra hundred.” “But that is all I agreed to pay you.” “Don’t care. It was risky business. Pay me another hundred or I’ll see----” Rodney checked him by handing out a crisp hundred dollar bill. It was fifteen minutes later when Rodney and Tim came out of the place, and Rodney’s step was decidedly unsteady. Tim, more used to drinking, walked off without showing the effects of his recent potations. Both were elated over their success. “See there!” exclaimed Tim, pointing excitedly down the street, where a bright blaze illuminated the night sky. “What is it?” asked Rodney. “Where are yer eyes? They’ll hev to be sharper ’n they are now to find the _Spray_ in the morning.”