“Doctor, I trust this to you,” he cried, excitedly. “It will be best to have them attested by all three of you. If possible get the record photographed to-night, and distribute the photographs in safe places. Above all, do not let the record itself out of your hands until I come for it. It is important—extremely important! As for me, I have not a moment to lose!” He seized his hat and dashed from the room, leaving them in an astonished group. The young psychologist sped down the stone steps of the laboratory three at a time, ran at top speed to the nearest street corner, turned it and leaped into a waiting taxicab. “The American Commodities Company’s dock in Brooklyn,” he shouted, “and never mind the speed limits!” Rentland and the chauffeur, awaiting him in the machine, galvanized at his coming. “Hot work?” the custom’s agent asked. “It may be very hot; but we have the start of him,” Trant replied as the car shot ahead. “Welter himself is coming to the docks to-night, I think, by the look of him! He left just before me, but must drop his friends first. He suspects, now, that we know; but he cannot be aware that we know that they are unloading to-night. He probably counts on our waiting to catch them at the cheating to-morrow morning. So he’s going over to-night himself if I size him up right, to order it stopped and remove all traces before we can prove anything. Is Dickey waiting?” “When you give the word he is to take us in and catch them at it. If Welter himself comes, as you think, it will not change the plan?” Rentland asked. “Not at all,” said Trant, “for I have him already. He will deny everything, of course, but it’s too late now!” The big car, with unchecked speed, swung down Broadway, slowed after a twenty-minutes’-run to cross the Brooklyn Bridge, and, turning to the left, plunged once more at high speed into the narrower and less well-kept thoroughfares of the Brooklyn water front. Two minutes later it overtook a little electric coupé, bobbing excitedly down the sloping street. As they passed it, Trant caught sight of the illuminated number hanging at its rear, and shouted suddenly to the chauffeur, who brought his car to a stop a hundred feet beyond. The psychologist, leaping down, ran into the road before the little car. “Miss Rowan,” he cried to its single occupant, as it came to a stop. “Why are you coming over here at this time to-night?” “Oh, it’s you, Mr. Trant!” She opened the door, showing relief in the recognition. “Oh, I’m so worried. I’m on my way to see father; for a telegram just came to him from Boston; mother opened it, and told me to take it to him at once, as it was most important. She wouldn’t tell me what it was about, but it excited her a great deal. Oh, I’m so afraid it must be about Will and that was why she wouldn’t tell me.” “From Boston?” Trant pressed quickly. Having her confidence, the girl nervously read the telegram aloud by the light of the coupé’s side lamps. It read: