"If he's cornered he'll be glad to drop the boy and clear out. But we want to take him home with us too, don't we, Wheaton?" asked Saxton. "I should think we'd better make sure of the boy first," Wheaton answered. "That would be a good night's work." The porter came to tell them that their berths were ready. "It's hardly worth while to turn in," said Warry, yawning. "I shudder at the thought of getting up at three o'clock." "But," he added, "if we're on the right track, this time to-morrow night they'll probably be welcoming us home with brass bands and the freedom of the city. Perhaps they'll have a public meeting at the Board of Trade. Cheer up, Jim; those detectives will go out of business if we really take the boy home." Wheaton smiled wearily; he did not relish Raridan's jesting. "Will your imagination never rest?" growled Saxton, knocking the ashes from his pipe. CHAPTER XXXV SHOTS IN THE DARK The night wind of the plain blew cold in their faces as they stepped out upon the Great River platform. There was a hint of storm in the air and clouds rode swiftly overhead. The voices of the trainmen and the throb of the locomotive, resting for its long climb mountainward, broke strangely upon the silence. A great figure muffled in a long ulster came down the platform toward the vestibule from which the trio had descended. "Hello," called Raridan cheerily, "there's only one like that! Good morning, Bishop!" "Good morning, gentlemen," said Bishop Delafield, peering into their faces. The waiting porter took his bags from him. "Has the boy been found yet?" "No." "I should have gone on home to-night if I had known that. But what are you doing here?" Raridan told him in a few words. They were following a slight clue, and were going over to the old Poindexter place, in the hope of finding Grant Porter there. Saxton was holding a colloquy with the driver of the station hack who had come in quest of passengers, and he hurried off with the man to get a buckboard. The conductor signaled with his lantern to go ahead, and the engine answered with a doleful peal of the bell. The porter had gathered up the bishop's things and waited for him to step aboard. "Never mind," the bishop said to him; "I won't go to-night." The train was already moving and the bishop turned to Raridan and Wheaton. "I'll wait and see what comes of this." "Very well," said Raridan. "We won't need our bags. We can leave them with the station agent." Wheaton stepped forward eagerly, glad to have something to do; he had not slept and was grateful for the cover of darkness which shut him out from the others. "Gentlemen with flasks had better take them," said Warry, opening his bag. "It's a cold morning!" "Wretchedly intemperate man," said the bishop. "Where's yours, Mr. Wheaton?" "I haven't any," Wheaton answered.