This last was addressed to Du Bois, who came whirling around the gate-post and crashed full-tilt into Crosman. The assistant staggered, but recovered his balance; and the two sat down with the others. The men came bounding in until fully thirty were there--more by five or six than had been engaged. Halloran threw the light of his lantern on them. “Time's up,” he said. “Where's Potin?” [pronounced Pot'n.] No one answered, but after a moment the missing Canadian appeared. “You're late,” said Halloran. “What's the matter?” The man had to pause to breathe. “It took me a m-min-ute, Mister Halloran. I--I guess I didn't hear the first whistle.” “We need better ears than yours, then. We can't use you after this. Runyon”--turning to one of the promptest of the outsiders--“I'll take you on in Potin's place. We don't pay men to sleep. That's all now, boys. You can go home.” But now that they were aroused there was a tendency to wait and talk it over. “What you got in them pails, Mr. Crosman?” called Du Bois. “Did you forget and bring your lunch?” “No; it's dynamite.” In a conversational tone. “It's what? Say, you're fooling!” He drew back as he spoke. The other men looked at one another. For reply Crosman produced a brown cylinder. “Good Lord! And I run into that!” In another moment Halloran and Crosman were alone. Down the alleys, between the piles, around the mill, out the gate--for every hole a man could squeeze through was abruptly pressed into service--the men had disappeared. And when the noise of the scampering feet had died away, Halloran said, with a chuckle: “Here's Du Bois's hat. I'll take it along.” The next morning he found him on the wharf. “You didn't stop for your hat last night, Du Bois. I guess you were called away suddenly.” The Inspector accepted the hat and pulled it on, drew out his tobacco-pouch, bit a half-moon from his plug, tucked it away in his cheek, and swept his eyes quizzically around the harbour. “That's all right, Mr. Halloran; that's all right,” he observed, discharging a preliminary brown streak. “I s'pose I've got to go up against old Salt Peter some day or other, but if I'm goin' to have anything to say about it myself I'd a heap rather go up whole. If I was to come an arm or a leg at a time he might think it was old G. Hyde Bigelow tryin' to fool him in sections, and the first thing I knew he'd be sayin', 'Bigelow, you darned old pile o' culls, there's a line o' little red divils down there a-sittin' up nights for you. Git along!'” CHAPTER II--Going to Headquarters Halloran had not yet exhausted his resources in getting at the facts behind the corn deal. There was one person who probably could, if he would, carry the story further, and that was Jimmie McGinnis. And so Halloran decided to run down to Chicago. The Captain, when he heard of it, came to see him. “Harry Crosman says you're going down to the city, Mr. Halloran.” “Yes; I shall take the night train.”