“Can you get to Port Monmouth?” the editor asked. “Remember the last train went at six o’clock.” “Oh, yes, I can get there if you don’t mind the expense,” Dick asserted. “It is merely a question of money.” “You mean a tug?” “Yes, sir,” said Dick; “I mean a tug.” “Very well, then,” said the editor; “you can drop that insurance matter and take this case. You must get to Port Monmouth at all hazards. Of course you know all about the stealing of the body of Sterling, the great millionaire, from St. Mark’s Churchyard; and you know what desperate efforts the police are making to catch the thieves. The chief of police started for Port Monmouth on the six o’clock train, and he is supposed to have a clew to the thieves there. You must find the chief and learn whatever he learns. It is a matter of absolute must. You _must_ get there. Here is an order on the cashier for fifty dollars for expenses.” “The World has proposed to us,” the editor continued, “to share the expense of a tug. Stop at the World office and say that we accept the proposition. They will send Mr. Hills with you to represent them. Now be off and don’t lose a minute.” Dick lost about twenty seconds in telling Darling that he was off for New Jersey and could not help eat the supper, and in almost no time he was at the World office, where he was joined by Mr. Hills, a short, stout reporter with a head full of brains. “The East River’s the place,” Mr. Hills panted. “Right down Fulton Street to South.” Hiring a tug seems an easy matter with plenty of money at command and so many tugs in the harbor looking for work. But at nine o’clock at night one might almost as well try to hire a white elephant. Towing is day work; and at six o’clock the tugs steam to their berths along the East River, fires are banked for the night, and captains and crews go home, leaving only watchmen in charge. The two reporters boarded a dozen tugs, but everywhere the answer was the same: “Impossible! Fires banked, crew gone home.” “Can’t you send for the captain?” Dick asked in several places. The answer led him to believe that every tugboat captain in New York lived in Harlem, or Morrisania, or some other distant section. “Get an ocean steamer to whistle for one,” one of the watchmen suggested. “That may bring one out.” “Capital idea!” Dick exclaimed. “Here’s the Ward Liner Santiago just below, at foot of Wall Street. We’ll get her to whistle up a tug.” But that proved another disappointment. “Couldn’t think of it,” said the second officer, who was in charge. “If the captain himself was aboard, he wouldn’t do it, because if he did he’d make the ship liable for the tug’s charges.” Matters were growing desperate. It was half-past nine by this time, and the editor’s words kept ringing painfully in Dick’s ears: “It is a matter of absolute must. You _must_ get there.”