"Lad," he cried with enthusiasm, "you're better than the lawyer and the whole constable force of Derby put together." "What do you say about my plan?" inquired Ralph. "Say--bully for you, that's what I say!" almost shouted the factory foreman. "If you start at eleven o'clock you'll be ready when that gang arrives?" "Ready, and time to spare. Say, but you've been thinking to some purpose." The foreman burst into a gay whistle as he reëntered the office. The tramp regarded him searchingly, and then looked at Ralph as if he half guessed that they were up to something. He was too indolent, however, to delve for the facts. The lawyer did not put in an appearance, Ralph knew by the whistles just what trains were arriving at Derby. The 8 p. m. came and passed on its way. Then the 10:30. By five minutes of eleven Ralph decided that the lawyer must have missed connection in some way, for he did not arrive at the plant. Just as the office clock struck eleven, Ralph arose from his chair and walked up in front of the tramp. "Do you want to earn a few dollars?" he inquired. "Sure, that's me," answered the man--"what doing?" "Helping Mr. Bartlett here. It will be hot work, but he'll do most of it, he tells me." "Oh, in the factory here." "Yes." "I'd rather stay here in the office and handle that Winchester when the mob comes," observed the tramp. "You can do ten times as much good doing what I want you to do." "Will it have anything to do with knocking out Dorsett's plans?" "Everything." The tramp arose to his feet like a jumping jack, his face wearing an eager grin. "Guv'nor," he said, "I'd trust you in most anything. I'd like to have a front seat out here to see the fun when the show begins, but if my being behind the scenes helps, depend on me." "I do," said Ralph. "You go with Mr. Bartlett." Ralph sat down as the two men disappeared. He listened attentively to the sounds from the melting room. Soon the big blast chimney began to roar, and glancing out of the window Ralph could see fitful red gleams shoot out upon the snow. There was a speaking tube running from the office to Bartlett's post of duty. Soon it whistled, and the foreman announced: "All ready." "So am I," mused Ralph, as he counted the minutes roll away. He tried to imagine just what was going to happen and how he would meet the crisis when it arrived. Midnight came, and one minute after twelve. Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed away. Then Ralph bent his ear. Some kind of a conveyance was coming down the turnpike. He could hear the ring of a horse's hoofs and the hard wheels crunching the frozen snow. Ralph picked up a newspaper and pretended to read it, looking as comfortable and unconcerned as possible. "Whoa!" sounded a loud voice outside. Then other voices mingled in confusion. Some one came to the window and peered in. There was a muffled consultation outside. Finally a thunderous knock sounded at the door, and a stentorian voice shouted out: