Willie was fairly paralyzed with astonishment. For a moment he stood staring dumbly at the card in his hand. Then he comprehended the situation. The man who had given him the cardboard was not a tramp, but a Secret Service agent; and his name was Sheridan. Something crooked was afoot among the bargemen, even as Willie had fancied might be the case. Sheridan was trailing the conspirators and needed help. At that thought, Willie’s indecision dropped from him like a cloak. He must act. Like a shot he started for the place Sheridan had pointed out, where there was a public telephone. As he ran, he looked up South Street. The thoroughfare was full of vehicles and people. Still Willie could distinguish the bargemen from the remainder of the crowd, although they were now well up the street. Sheridan was not far away, and yet Willie had almost more difficulty in recognizing him than in distinguishing the bargemen farther up the street. Of course, there were several of the latter, and that made a difference. Sheridan was a single individual. But Willie quickly divined why there was this difference. Sheridan was keeping in close to the buildings, where he was much less conspicuous than persons in the middle of the walk. Willie had no time to consider the matter, however, for he had reached the place where he was to telephone. He took a last, sharp look up the street, and saw the bargemen just entering a door. Willie tried to determine exactly which building they were entering. Then he turned and stepped through the door before him. He found himself in a typical South Street ship-chandlery. About him were ropes, compasses, lanterns, rubber coats, chains, anchors, and other nautical equipment. A clerk stepped forward. “Do you have a public telephone?” inquired Willie. “In the booth over there,” said the clerk, pointing across the room. The clerk paid no further attention to Willie, who stepped into the booth, closed the door, dropped a nickel into the slot, and called his number. Immediately came the reply. “Sheridan wants a man to help him at once in the neighborhood of South Street and Coenties Slip,” said Willie. “Is this Sheridan speaking?” came the query. “No. This is a messenger for Sheridan.” “Hold the wire a moment, please.” And a little later the voice added: “Tell Sheridan there isn’t a single operative here at present. We’ll send him help if anybody comes in.” Willie hung up the receiver but remained in the booth, thinking. Sheridan might need help badly. Those bargemen looked like a desperate lot. Yet the office could send him no aid. Possibly he himself could give Sheridan some help. At that thought, Willie’s heart beat wildly. “I’ll try,” said Willie to himself, “and at any rate I must get the message to Sheridan.”