Where was that commerce now? Wholly vanished with the multiple daytime activities that centre near this spot. The great fleet of incoming and out-going ocean liners, of vessels, barges, tows, ferries, tugs--where were they in the drifting snow that was blotting out the night in opaque white? The clank and rush of the elevated, the strident grinding of the trolleys, the polyglot whistling and tooting of the numerous small river craft, the cries of 'longshoremen, the roaring basal note of metropolitan mechanism--all were silenced. Nothing was to be heard, at the moment of their arrival, but the heavy wash of the harbor waters against the sea wall and its yeasting churn in the ferry slip. Near the dock-house they saw some half-obliterated tracks in the snow. Father Honore bent to examine them; it availed him nothing. He looked at his watch; at the same moment he heard the distant hoarse half-smothered whistle repeated again and again and the deadened beat of the paddle wheels. Gradually the boat felt her way into the slip. The snow was falling heavily. "We will wait here until the boat leaves," said Father Honore, stepping inside to a dark wind-sheltered angle of the house. "It's a wild goose chase we're on," muttered his companion after a while. The next moment he laid a heavy hand on the priest's arm, gripping it hard, every muscle tense. A heavy brewery team, drawn by noble Percherons, rumbled past them down the slip. On it, behind the driver's seat, was the figure of a man, crouched low. Had it not been for the bandaged arm and the unnatural contour it gave to the body's profile, they might have failed to recognize him. The two stood motionless in the blackness of the inner angle, pressing close to the iron pillars as their man passed them at a distance of something less than twelve feet. The warning bell rang; they hurried on board. After the boat was well out into the harbor, the detective entered the cabin to investigate. He returned to report to Father Honore that the man was not inside. "Outside then," said the priest, drawing a sharp short breath. The two made their way forward, keeping well behind the team. Father Honore saw Champney standing by the outside guard chain. He was whitened by the clinging snow. The driver of the team sang out to him: "I say, pardner, you'd better come inside!" He neither turned nor spoke, but, bracing himself, suddenly crouched to the position for a standing leap, fist clenched.... A great cry rang out into the storm-filled night: "Champney!"