They had been walking along the dark street, arm in arm. There were few pedestrians in sight. This was a busy part of the town in daylight, but there was little activity now. Ralph stared after the long, shadowy figure crossing the cobbled street. There was a pale glow of lamplight just where the stranger stepped upon the curb. For an instant his flaxen hair and red neck were visible. “By gracious! I believe that is the fellow I told you about,” Ralph exclaimed. “Not Mac——?” “No! Malone! And I believe he’s drunk. He had been drinking this afternoon.” “Where could he get liquor around here?” “I’m sure I don’t know. But I’d say he got it, law or no law.” “So that fellow is a friend of the Big Noise?” “A tool, anyway, of McCarrey’s.” “Wonder where he’s going?” ruminated Zeph. “Drunk or sober, he acts as though he had something on his mind.” “There is another gate in the yard fence in that direction,” whispered Ralph. “Come on!” urged Zeph Dallas. “I’ve another idea, Ralph.” “Aren’t you the little wonder?” chuckled the dispatcher. “What now?” “A drunken man often tells the truth when a sober man won’t. He likewise is not to be trusted with a secret. Alcohol loosens the tongue. Let’s get after this Whitey Malone and see if we can’t make him tell something about McCarrey and his plans.” “Go to it, boy,” said Ralph doubtfully. “I’ll stay in the background. Whitey has it in for me.” “Keep in sight just the same,” commanded Zeph, taking the lead with promptness. He darted across the street and was soon close on the heels of the shadowy Malone. Ralph looked searchingly about the block before he ventured to follow the two. It seemed that Malone was quite alone. And he staggered on without looking back. He did not fear being followed. The young dispatcher allowed Zeph and Malone to get well ahead of him. As long as he could keep Dallas in sight he was satisfied. The trail led directly past the gateway in the yard fence. They went up into the town, crossing the railroad at Hammerby Street where Ralph had had his adventure with Cherry Hopkins that afternoon. Beyond the warehouse that stood here was a dark and narrow lane. Under the dim radiance of a single street lamp Ralph saw Zeph turn into this alley. Of course, Whitey Malone must be in advance. Ralph looked around for some weapon before he ventured into the lane. Drunk as Whitey Malone was, the fellow might have apprehended that he was being followed, and might be prepared for an attack. “Zeph is as reckless as he can be,” thought the young dispatcher. “I’ve seen him get into some messes before this. Ah! What’s this?” It was a spoke of a wheel lying in the gutter—a tough piece of ash as effective in a strong hand as a policeman’s nightstick. Ralph weighted it, spat on his palm to tighten his grip on the club, and then ventured into the dark alley.