Willie’s first impulse was to cry aloud for help. A second thought sealed his lips. The crowd his cries would draw might finish him as well as Sheridan: for the members of it would be friendly to Larsen. It was better to find a policeman. Sheridan might not be dead yet, and it might still be possible to save his life. But no policeman was in sight. Willie reached the end of the pier and glanced desperately up the street, then down. No bluecoat was to be seen. Which way should he go for help? Involuntarily Willie faced south and turned to his left. Then he ran south. He guessed wrong, for the policeman he sought was at that moment at the northern extremity of his beat. But Willie did not find it out until he had run far down South Street. Then he turned and raced back. As he approached the public pier again, he looked down its black length, hoping against hope for some glimpse of his friend. Then he stopped dead in his tracks, struck dumb with amazement. There were Larsen and Sheridan, walking peaceably side by side, and just emerging from the darkness of the unlighted pier. They crossed the street and turned north. Willie followed close behind them. At the first street light Sheridan stopped, said something to his companion, and drew back his coat. Willie caught the gleam of a gold badge on his vest. He heard Larsen bellow profanely, but before the hulking bargeman could lift a finger, something shone in the light, there was a sharp click, and a handcuff glittered on his wrist. Then Willie heard Sheridan say: “Be quiet, Larsen, and come on. I’ve got you right. If you try any monkey business, I’ll put a hole in you quick.” And in another second a wicked-looking automatic gleamed dully in Sheridan’s free hand. CHAPTER V ON THE TRAIL OF A COTTON THIEF “How did you do it?” demanded Willie, the minute Sheridan stepped from the door of the Old Slip police-station, whither he had taken Larsen and where Willie had followed him. “I was scared to death about you. I was sure they had murdered you when you went down in the hold of that barge to pay for the wool. So I ran to get a cop, but I couldn’t find one.” Sheridan chuckled. “I reckon they would pretty nearly have murdered me if they had found out who I was. They had a pretty good chance, down in that barge.” “But how did you ever get Larsen out without a struggle? I heard him ask you to come inside and settle for the wool.” “That was easy enough,” explained the Secret Service man. “I asked him to go have a drink and said I’d pay him in the saloon.” “Oh! Of course,” said Willie, chagrined at his own dullness. “But what was all that noise I heard in the barge? It was like the sound of blows.” “So it was. But they were blows of a hatchet that Larsen was using to break open some hogsheads. He even took the trouble to wrap a rag around his hatchet, so as to deaden the noise.”