Those who say that any man will naturally fall for a pretty young woman are pessimistic. Age, unspoiled, will crave association with youth, but a young man will quite adequately fill the bill.

When I reached the hotel I had no trouble in finding Hiram Strong, Sr., the Gold-Beater, in a forest of millinery and subdued lights of the hotel dining-room. He was the most prominent figure in the big room, and sitting opposite him was my clerk, Miss Bascom.

He was not a victim or an intended one—a lion who, with playful stroke, could crush the beautiful flower in front of him. His lids would narrow occasionally with intense interest or curiosity. I could not get close enough to hear what was said, but she was quite voluble. I had no immediate interest in him; he was fully able to care for himself, but my interest in her was intensified. It seemed to me that I could see on her beautiful shoulders, now bared in dinner garb, the mark of the huge, pudgy, filthy hand of Becker, in gross caress. The brand of suspicion was upon her the moment she had come into contact with him, when he pressed her to his vile self, and her lips were violated by contact with his lumpy, purple, filthy mouth as he kissed her. Could her ears ever be maidenly again after listening to his vile proposals?

I was not at all sure of her relations with Chief Clerk Burrell, but I felt sure there was an understanding; nor could I account for her anonymous notes to Hiram, Jr. But here she sat comfortably dining with his father after six or eight hours' acquaintance, all of which was most disconcerting.

Truly a remarkable young woman, whatever her impelling motive, was my thought. I felt that the time was fast approaching when I could compel her to hold up her last page for me to read.

At a reasonable hour the Gold-Beater put her into a cab and sent her home. I hurried back to our rooms expecting to hear from Hiram, Jr. His mission was most difficult and important—would he be successful?

There was no mistaking his bounding step on the stairs, some time after eleven, and I was not surprised when he grabbed my foot and dragged me from the bed where I was dozing.

"Get up, Ben; I've got it—the Swede was a hard nut to crack, but I made him open up—I've got a whole barrel full downstairs.—It's the stuff we want, all right—come on and see it!" he exclaimed, greatly excited, but suppressing himself with discretion.

"Are you sure?" I asked, barely awake.

"Of course, I'm sure—come on down and see it—I wouldn't take his word for anything. I made him open up before he lowered it into my boat. He tried to play innocent—jockeyed for some time, but I finally showed him the copy of his letter and flatly told him, 'No sample, no sail, also jail and his ship interned.' A half barrel of that stuff is heavy and I had the devil of a time getting it out of the boat onto the levee. Then I got hold of Billy Swope's taxi—he's safe—I've known him about the docks for a long time. Where are we going to put it at this time of night? Come on—wake up—you act as if you'd been taking dope," he hissed, coming threateningly toward me, playful but intensely excited.

"As a matter of fact I was planning, Hiram——Leave it in the cab—go down and tell the driver he is engaged for the night."

When Hiram came back to the room he saw me taking two full-sized cartons from my drawer and asked with great excitement, "Where did you get them?"

"From those five bales of waste-paper you saw come off of Becker's boat onto the S. P. wharf: didn't I tell you about it?" I asked, knowing I had not told him and that there was still a great deal more I could not tell him for the present.

It took us a long time to locate the agent of the packing-house. The time seemed interminable before we could rout him out of bed to identify the goods as those that were stolen, but as soon as he knew what we wanted he was very much awake and ready for all requirements.

He came out to the cab, drew a liberal sample from the barrel setting on end beside the driver, took it to the light, felt of it, tasted it raw, but before pronouncing it solemnly and unqualifiedly theirs, he cooked and tasted it. We then made him accompany us down to his plant, unlock his cold storage house and there we left the barrel in his charge to preserve as evidence, after I had filled a full carton for further use that night.

We then drove back to the rooms where I had left Hiram to finish his preparations for going aboard the Fearsome.

"By Heaven, one man now knows I didn't steal—and the rest of them have got to know before we get through," said Hiram, wringing my hand before I left him in order to drive to Superintendent Kitchell's residence and give him a bad half hour.

Mr. Kitchell grumbled at first, but when he learned my mission he, too, was jubilant and unstinting in his praise. I had exhibited the full carton of sausage and told him as much as I thought necessary.

"We can have warrants issued at once, can't we?" he asked.

"No—no, not yet—the most important work is yet to be done. The evidence we now have would only convict Becker & Co. of receiving stolen property. How they were able to replace the Government, the railroad and the packer's seals on the car must be answered before we prove larceny. Young Strong's idea of getting into their plant is the best, and we are ready to try it."

"Of course, you know best—we want to stop it for good and all by sending every one to the Pen. Taylor, have you made up your mind as to whom it is in our office that is working with them?" he inquired guardedly, wrapping his bathrobe about his shins.

"Yes—pretty sure—but——"

"Well, as I said, you know best—whatever you say goes a hundred per cent with me now—what do you want?" his bald spot taking on a deeper red.

"Discontinue my office and give out freely that any further effort in the case has been abandoned as a failure. Besides, the robberies have stopped now. I am going with young Strong to try and get into their plant, and hope to secure the rest of the necessary evidence in that way."

"Good idea; I will do what you ask to-day."

"One thing more, Mr. Kitchell, it seems necessary, in fact extremely important for me not to lose sight of my clerk, Miss Bascom——"

"I understand—I can attend to that easily," he assented, as I left him to spend the remainder of the morning getting ready to board the Fearsome.

Hiram, Jr., was silent most of the time, but moved with such energy and determination that the thought of failure was terrifying. In fact, I began to feel almost as though I was getting on thin ice.

So much depended on the new motor and many other sailing details impossible to think of at the time.

Captain Marianna only claimed to be a navigator, but he displayed considerable knowledge about gasoline motors. He had attended to the many details and was waiting for us with a confidence that was reassuring.

After breakfast aboard, we all took a hand in starting the motor.

"It runs as though made for the job," exclaimed Hiram, hardly able to contain himself. He had not shaved for several days and with dirty working clothes he looked indeed a longshoreman, but was oblivious to the fact.

When the motor had run long enough to get warm I told him to throw in the clutch that started the propeller, which he did without skill and so suddenly that the Fearsome took up the slack of her lines and before I could stop the motor or get to the clutch she snapped them and was free from the wharf.

Hiram realized he had blundered from inexperience and his face flushed.

"Ben, will that hold us up? It was a devil of a thing for me to do," he said, catching my arm, greatly alarmed.

"Captain, have you plenty of line aboard?" I called.

"Yes, plenty," he assured.

"Let's give her a few turns and if she moves all right we'll head for the entrance of the lake."

"I think we're safe in that," he replied, and Hiram's look changed to one of confidence at once, evidently concluding his first blunder was not fatal to the enterprise in which his whole soul was wrapped.

The captain took the wheel, while I gave the motor half speed and Hiram stood in wonder, watching as we moved swiftly up the canal, and when clear of it I gave the motor full speed and the captain without more ado squared away towards Mississippi Sound, the gulf to New Orleans on the river.

"She runs like a greyhound," Hiram said, after watching her go at full speed for a short time. "How fast is she running?" he asked, apparently forgetting his first disappointment, and consumed with a fierce satisfaction that his complete vindication and success was at hand.

"Perhaps eight or ten knots," I replied evasively. As a matter of fact we were going over twelve and I had to stand over the new motor with oil can and grease bucket, so I paid no more attention to him.

We got out into the sound before noon. It is unwise to run a new motor too far without stopping, so I advised that we make a port and appealed to the captain.

"We can make Gulfport in a short time," he replied, to which we all assented and he changed his course. When we got there a most unlooked for incident occurred.