Stanley, evidently knowing what was in the wind, lost no time in obeying the summons. Allan told him, briefly, the story of the mystery, and laid before him the theory which he had mentioned to Mamie the night before—that this was only a preliminary move on the part of the strikers. Stanley listened in silence, and sat for a moment thinking it over when Allan had finished. “I don’t know,” he said, at last. “I can’t say I think much of your theory. It looks to me like a mighty bold thing for the strikers to do—an’ what’s worse, a mighty foolish one. They can’t hope to capture enough men to really cripple us. Where would they keep them?” “I’m sure I don’t know. But what other explanation can there be?” “Well,” said Stanley, “I’m always in favour of the simplest explanation. Maybe the whole thing was just a plain robbery. Were the car seals examined after the train got in?” “Yes—I’d thought of that. None of the seals were broken.” “It ain’t so much of a trick t’ doctor a seal, if a feller’s fixed for it,” Stanley observed. “But suppose it was a robbery—where is the crew? Nobody would want to steal them?” “I’d like to look over the ground before I do any more guessing,” said Stanley. “Why can’t I run out there? Everything’s quiet here and I can be back by night.” “Just what I was thinking of,” agreed Allan. “And I’m going with you. We can take the accommodation—I’ll get the conductor to drop us off at the place we found the train.” “All right,” said Stanley, rising. “I’ll just run over to the freight-house an’ give my men a few orders. I’ll be back in five minutes.” “We’ve got fifteen,” said Allan, glancing at his watch. “I’ll meet you down on the platform.” Then he called the office-boy from the outer room. “Jim,” he said, “I’m going to be busy for a while and don’t want to be disturbed. See that I’m not.” “All right, sir,” said Jim, and retired to take his stand before the door, like Cerberus before the gate of Hades. For the next ten minutes, Allan devoted his whole mind to clearing away the accumulated work which piled his desk. Fortunately, he had an intelligent and efficient stenographer, and tossed the last letter to him just as the accommodation pulled in. “That’s all,” he said. “I’m going out to Schooley’s. You can catch me there, if you need me, but I’ll probably be back by the middle of the afternoon. Hello!” he added, as he reached for coat and hat, “what’s all that noise?” And, indeed, from the sounds, it seemed that a riot of some sort was taking place in the outer office. Allan flung open the door, and paused, amazed, on the threshold. For a dozen men rushed at him with a violence which almost carried him off his feet. “Here; hold on!” he shouted. “What’s the matter with you fellows, anyway?” “We want to know—” “Everybody says see you—” “We must have the story—”