It was on the fourth day that Boyd espied the man in the gray suit among the strikers and pointed him out to his three companions, Clyde and Fraser having joined him and George in a spirit of curiosity. Clyde was for immediately executing a sally to capture the fellow, explaining that once they had him inside the dock-house they could beat him until he confessed that Marsh was behind the strike, but his valor shrank amazingly when Fraser maliciously suggested that he himself lead the dash. "No!" he exclaimed. "I'm not a fighting man, but I'm a good general. You know, Napoleon was about my size." "I never noticed the resemblance," remarked Fraser. "All the same, your idea ain't so bad," said Balt. "There's somebody stirring those fellows up, and I think it's that detective. I wouldn't mind getting my hands on him, and if you'll all stick with me I'll go out after him." "Not for mine," hastily declared "Fingerless" Fraser. "I don't want to fight anybody. I'm here as a spectator." "You're not afraid?" questioned Emerson. "Not exactly afraid, but what's the use of my getting mixed up in this row? It ain't _my_ cannery." Now, while a mob is by nature noisy and threatening, there is little real danger in it until its diffusive violence is directed into one channel by a leader. Then, indeed, it becomes a terrible thing, and to the watchers at the dock it became evident, in time, that a guiding influence was at work among their enemies. Sure enough, late in the afternoon of the fourth day, without a moment's warning, the strikers rushed in a body, bearing down the guards like reeds. They came so unexpectedly that there was no time to muster reinforcements at the gate; almost before the fishermen could drop their tasks, their enemies were inside the building and pandemonium had broken loose. The structure rocked to the tumult of pounding heels, of yells and imprecations, the lofty roof serving to toss back and magnify the uproar. Emerson and his companions found themselves carried away before the onslaught like chips in the surf, then sucked into a maelstrom where the first duty was self-preservation. Behind locked doors and shivering glass a terrified office-clerk, receiver to ear, was calling madly for Police Headquarters, while in the main building itself the crowd bellowed and roared and the hollow floor reverberated to the thunder of trampling feet and the crash of tumbling freight-piles.