IT is doubtful if any sensation had ever stirred the staid little town of Wadsworth from centre to circumference as did the news to which it awoke next morning. The story of the missing train crew, of the mysteriously abandoned train, flew from mouth to mouth, gaining always in the telling some thrilling detail, the generally accepted version being that the strikers had wrecked the train and butchered the crew, the conductor and brakeman perishing in trying to protect the “scab” engineer and fireman. There was no one to worry especially about the latter, for they were strangers whose names were not even known, but the conductor and the two brakemen all had families, to say nothing of relatives and friends, and all of these were very properly exercised. Allan, foreseeing this excitement, reached his office almost at daybreak, but early as it was, he found three excited women awaiting him, demanding information, hope, encouragement. Of information he had little to give, but of hope and encouragement a-plenty. “There’s absolutely no reason why you should be so worried,” he told them, when he got them into his office and the door closed. “Your husbands haven’t been injured in any way—I’m sure of it. They’ll be back safe and sound in a day or two.” “What makes you think they haven’t been hurt?” demanded one of the women. “You don’t really know, do you?” “No, I don’t really know. But it’s absurd to believe anything else.” “But who did it?” “I don’t know.” “But you suspect! Oh, if I thought it was the strikers, I’d—I’d tear their eyes out!” And the other two women added that they would be glad to help. “Now, see here,” broke in Allan, realizing that forceful measures were necessary, “we mustn’t have any nonsense of that sort. I don’t know whether it was the strikers or not—there’s nothing to show it was. If it was, they’ll be punished—trust me for that. If it wasn’t, let’s not accuse them. I want you to promise to leave this thing in my hands. We’re going to do everything possible to clear it up. I want you to promise me to go home and stay there and not do any talking for forty-eight hours.” “And if we do, what will you promise?” Allan hesitated an instant. “I’ll promise,” he said, drawing a deep breath, “that in forty-eight hours the men will be back again.” They gazed at him a moment—at the clear eyes, the firm lips, the determined jaw—and something of his self-confidence communicated itself to them. And they promised and left the office in much better spirits than when they had entered it. Almost before the door closed after them, Allan had summoned Stanley, and while waiting for that worthy to appear, gave orders that no information concerning the mystery, or concerning anything else connected with the strike should be given out by anyone but himself. He wanted to be left free, for a few hours, at least, to work on the case in his own way.