Joe nodded. “All right,” he agreed. “Maybe you’d better. I’m not sure just which house Warren lives in. We don’t exchange visits very often,” he added dryly. He pedaled out into the crowded traffic of Central City’s principal business thoroughfare, the brown-papered parcels joggling about in the carrier, wormed his way between the two lines of westward-bound trucks and autos, cut under the nodding head of a big gray dray horse and turned into Cotting Avenue. From there he could make better time, and, since he was late, he pedaled fast. His steed was not a very speedy one at best and it was only by straining his leg muscles to the utmost that he could attain a celerity that approached his desire. The Madden cook was a formidable woman with an eloquent flow of language, and Joe had no wish to start the flow! Although it was well after four when he hurried along the Madden side yard and thrust open the kitchen door, grumbles instead of scolding awaited him. He kept a still tongue while he placed the parcels on top of the refrigerator and dodged quickly out again. Ten minutes later, by following the streets of poorer paving and scanty traffic, he was back at the “Central City Market, Donaldson and Burns, Proprietors,” had leaned his bicycle against the wall beside the rear entrance and reported back in the shipping room. On Saturdays he was on duty until nine o’clock at night. As to-day, however, was only Tuesday he could be measurably sure of getting away at five or a few minutes after. To make it more certain he kept a sharp eye on the orders for the final delivery, with the result that when the last box of spinach and crate of grapefruit had been brought in from the sidewalk and the big green curtains were down he was free to leave. He found Sam Sawyer awaiting him outside. Sam had brought his own bicycle and as Joe wheeled his to the street Sam said: “We’re to go right to the police station, Joe. Warren’s going to meet us there. He’s certain sure that was his wheel you saw.” “Yes, I guess it was,” Joe agreed. “I’ve been thinking about it. It was new and shiny, just like his. I guess we’d better foot it, Sam. We’ll get there faster this time of night.” Sam, who was already astride, viewed the congested traffic of Main Street and agreed. Together, their wheel beside them, they made a slow and difficult passage along the sidewalk, audibly censured by home-hurrying pedestrians. Sam, however, managed to keep conversation going in spite of frequent interruptions. “I guess there won’t be many more wheels stolen after this,” he announced confidently. “Why?” asked Joe. “Haven’t you heard about the Vigilantes?” Joe shook his head. “What’s it?” he inquired.