"I don't know yet," answered the chief, a line of worry between his eyes. "I've sent the caller after Hermann. Here he is now," he added, as the caller hurried into the office. "Well?" "Hermann can't come," the caller announced. "He's sick in bed with the grip." The chief glanced at the clock. "We've only got ten minutes," he said. "Whoever goes has got to catch the accommodation." "Why can't I go?" asked Allan, coming forward. "I'll be glad to, if it'll be any help." "Will you?" said the chief, eagerly. "Good for you! But you've had a hard day. I'll tell you what I'll do," he added. "I'll hunt up an extra man at Parkersburg or Athens and send him to Coalville on Number Eleven. That will let you off at midnight." "All right," agreed Allan. "I can stand it that long. But I want something to eat before I start." "Get a lunch at the restaurant. They can fix up a basket for you and you can eat it on the train." Allan nodded and went down the steps three at a time. It was raining heavily, but he dodged around the corner of the building into the restaurant without getting very wet, and six minutes later, basket in hand, he jumped aboard the accommodation, waving his hand to the chief-dispatcher, who stood looking anxiously from the window of his office to be sure that the boy made the train. He was genuinely hungry, and he devoted the first fifteen minutes to a consumption of the lunch which the restaurant-keeper had put up for him. Then the conductor, who had glanced at his pass, nodded, and gone on to collect the tickets, came back and sat down beside him. "I thought you had a trick in the dispatchers' office?" he said. "I have," answered Allan, "but I'm going out to Coalville on an emergency call. The night man there had his leg broken, awhile ago, and the chief couldn't get anybody in a hurry to take his place. So I volunteered." "Yes," said the conductor, "I saw Roscoe hurt, and it was the queerest accident I ever heard of. I was coming down Main Street to report for duty, and I saw Roscoe coming down Bridge, with his lunch-basket in his hand. There was a horse hitched to a buggy standing at the corner, and a man who seemed to be fixing something about the harness. Well, sir, just as Roscoe stepped in front of it, that horse gave a leap forward, went right over him, and galloped lickety-split up the street. It was stopped up near the canal, not much hurt. But I couldn't understand what started it. There wasn't a thing to scare it, and it had been standing quiet as a lamb the minute before." "It _was_ queer," agreed Allan, thoughtfully. "Whose horse was it?" "It was a livery-stable rig. A stranger had hired it for the afternoon. The livery-stable people said the horse had never run away before." "Did you find out who the stranger was?"