Harker emitted a “My God!” and followed his partner up the dock. But Pentecost stopped suddenly a few yards away, where he could still be seen and heard by the Purser (or anyone concealed in the vicinity), and pulling out a N. Y., N. H. & H. Railroad folder, began looking for express trains to Boston. “That’s right,” Harker said, coming up to him. “We’ll get the first train out!” The Purser was approaching them. “You stay here,” said Pentecost. “There’s a lot of business at the office. I can wire if I want you. Here”—looking at the folder—“‘New York to Boston’—I ought to get the nine o’clock.” “No—” (from Harker) “half-past nine now!” “That’s Daylight—railroad’s on Standard.” “So it is—train’s ten our time—just make it!” Pentecost seized the Purser’s hand. “Thank you very much, Mr. Lawson. You’ve done us a great favor.” And as he was turning to go: “We paid that man something like thirty thousand yesterday. A yegg’s run up on him—that’s what it is!” He hurried out to the street and jumped into the taxi that Alfred was holding, pushed a five-dollar bill into the driver’s hand with “Grand Central—make time!” and shouting out a few parting directions to Harker as the taxi started with a great jerk (the driver was earning his money) he was whirled away into the traffic. * * * * * The man who was following Augustus Findlay as he fled wildly away from the Cripps mansion a few seconds after the sound of the two revolver shots split the air, wasn’t by any means putting a shadow on him, but was running him close, never less than thirty yards behind, and a flash on him from his pocket torch whenever it was safe to throw a light. His name was Graham and he knew his business. He kept so near that Findlay didn’t get a chance to pitch his gun anywhere, and what’s more, I doubt if he could have done it if he’d got the chance, for the minute he realized he was being followed and the light flashed on him every few seconds, he was virtually on the scrap heap—which is to say, out of his head with terror. It was in a quiet block of Collamore Street over near the railroad tracks that Graham ran up on him and bumped him against the iron post or column of a street light. This nearly knocked Findlay over, but Graham got him by the throat and shut off his wind before he had a chance to fall, and in his wild struggles to loosen Graham’s grip so he could get air, and Graham doing some extra thrashing about trying to hold him, it gave the idea there was the liveliest kind of a fight on; and a man in his shirt sleeves, who’d been sitting smoking a pipe at a second-story window nearly above, commenced to yell at them to quit.