Shortly after eight o’clock in the morning the three were awakened by a racket downstairs. They heard rapid footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later their door burst open and Lawrence bounded into the room--Lawrence, the Transport man, who had been sent to cross from Staten Island in a sailboat. He had reached Port Monmouth after daylight. “We’re going to have something to do yet, fellows,” he announced, after greeting the three in bed. “The chief is certainly somewhere in the State, though he’s not in Port Monmouth. I’ve just come from the telegraph office, and the operator tells me he is in New Jersey. He is trying to locate him for us.” About two hours later Lawrence entered again with further news. “I’ve found him,” he said. “The chief went down to Shamong last night, and he’s still there.” “Shamong? Where is Shamong?” “Away down among the scrub pines. It’s down below Manchester and Whiting’s, about a hundred and fifty miles from here.” Dick bounded out of bed; he saw that there was probably more work before him. “Say, Sumner,” Hills said, his eyes half-open, “get my instructions for me, will you, like a good fellow?” “Yes, and mine too,” Atwater echoed; “there’s no use of our all getting up at this unearthly hour.” It was a matter of pride to Dick that these older reporters should feel sure that he knew just what to do. He and Lawrence went down to the telegraph office, and Dick wrote three messages. One of them said:-- Daily Transport, New York:-- Chief of police is at Shamong. Send instructions. SUMNER--LAWRENCE. The others were the same, but addressed one to the Herald and one to the World, with Atwater’s name signed to the first and the name of Hills to the other. Several hours passed before replies were received to these messages, and when they came Hills, Atwater, and Lawrence were ordered home and Dick was instructed to “go on to Shamong and find the chief.” That meant that Dick was to travel alone into the wilds of South Jersey in search of the chief and Mr. Sterling’s body. He was sorry to go alone, it was so much more pleasant to travel in good company; but as far as the work was concerned he felt equal to it. Possibly, just possibly, the chief might have found the body or caught the thieves; and that would be a tremendous piece of news. There was one difficulty about reaching Shamong, as he found by the time-table. The only train of the afternoon went as far as Whiting’s, fifteen miles north of Shamong, and stopped there. The only chance was to go to Whiting’s and hire a carriage there to take him on to Shamong. Daylight was fast changing into dusk when Dick’s train drew up at Whiting’s. His first step was to go into the telegraph office. “When out of town, always keep your wires open,” Dr. Goode once had told him; and he had often found the advice valuable. “Please ask Shamong to keep open late for a Transport special,” he said to the operator.