"Too bad," he said, softly and sorrowfully. "I fancy Bob Adair was right." The road detective had forcibly expressed the opinion that Glen Palmer had been a jail bird. More than that, Adair believed him to be in league with the conspirators. Ralph thought not. Glen had sent him two warning messages under extraordinary circumstances. The press telegram just over the wires, however, certainly coincided with the charges of Ike Slump that Glen was a criminal. It was one of a batch of items that had come over the commercial line that evening. The message was dated at a small interior city, Fordham, and it read: "The system adopted by the Bon Ton department store here to discourage theft, bore practical results today, and their publicly offered reward of ten dollars was claimed by an amateur detective. The latter discovered a boy in the act of removing a valuable ring from a display tray, and informed on him. The thief was searched and the stolen article found secreted on his person. He unblushingly admitted his guilt. The thief gave the name of Sam Jones, but some papers found on him disclosed his correct name, which is Glen Palmer. He was brought before Justice Davis, who sentenced him promptly to sixty days in the county workhouse." "What's hitting you so glum, Fairbanks?" inquired Glidden, as Ralph kept poring over the telegram in a depressed way. "A friend of mine gone wrong," replied Ralph simply. He was glad that he was not called on for any further explanation. Just then Tipton broke in with a crisp short wire--No. 83 had just passed, only fifteen minutes late. "She's getting in among the bad mountain cuts," observed Glidden, as Ralph crossed off the station on his check card. "If the pull isn't too hard, I reckon she'll make her first switch nearly on time." There was now in the dispatcher's room a dead calm of some duration. Glidden sat figuring up some details from the business of the night. Ralph rested back in his chair, thinking seriously of Glen Palmer, and wondering what mystery surrounded him and his grandfather. The silence was broken finally with a sharp tanging challenge, always stimulating and startling to the operator. It was the manager's call: "25--25--25." Ralph swept his key in prompt response. "Hello!" said the aroused Glidden, listening keenly, "thought Tipton was off for the night after 83 had passed. What's--that!" Ralph, deeply intent, took in the rapid tickings eagerly. The message was from the station which had reported No. 83 passed in good shape three-quarters of an hour before. Here was the hurry message that came over the wire: "83 something wrong. Just found brakeman of train lying in snow at side of track. Hurt or drugged. Mumbled about foul play. Catch Maddox and advise conductor of 83." "I say!" exclaimed Glidden, jumping to his feet. "Get Maddox, Fairbanks. 83 is due or passed." "M-x M-x--stop 83," tapped Ralph quickly.