We sat and eyed each other for several quiet moments. Finally Hiram spoke. Said he, "Do you think I can help you here? If I can, we'll let them take the Fearsome—they'll have to pay well—then we can get another one. I won't rest well until this matter is cleaned up, lock, stock and barrel——"

"No, my boy, that would be an unnecessary sacrifice—boats with any such carrying capacity and speed are scarce; in fact, are now unobtainable. While I am not going into details now—truth is, I haven't yet worked out the details—I think seeing you twice a week will be enough." It really seemed to me that he would be only in the way, but I thought it unwise to mention that to him.

While I was looking up an engineer to take my place on the boat, Hiram went to the shippers and drove a hard bargain, arranging for loading and unloading at night so that he could make his run by daylight, requiring only one shift of the crew. Thus he surprised me again with his keen sense of things commercial. One would have thought he had spent years about the docks and shipping. In fact, Hiram Strong, Jr., had been a continuous surprise.

When I returned with an engineer to explain and show him about, general merchandise was pouring into the Fearsome, with black stevedores swarming about like ants.

"You see, I am going to take just enough of this merchandise to pay expenses of the trip, then our lumber freight will be all velvet—the freight will come out at one end while the lumber goes in at the other and we won't lose any time, see?"

Yes, I did see, but didn't say much, for I was busy planning. I remained until I saw him off and waved to him as the Fearsome headed down stream. I afterward learned that when they reached the locks into Lake Borgne, they found the Fearsome could squeeze through and save over two hundred miles on the round trip and be running in inland water all the way. Surely nothing got away from that boy.

I returned to my old room in the general railroad office and took possession again. I sent at once for Superintendent Kitchell, whom I knew was exceedingly anxious to hear of my progress. Nothing had been removed from my office except Miss Bascom's desk and typewriter.

The superintendent came in puffing, and was slightly indignant that I had not come to him, until I explained that I did not want to take the slightest chance of our conversation being overheard.

"We have been successful in getting pretty well all over Becker & Co.'s plant and have secured enough evidence against them to convict, but to finish the job and get the railroad men implicated I need some help from you," I said, as he looked at me with undisguised astonishment.

"Mr. Taylor, anything but the road-bed is yours, to help you clean up this infernal mess. Only this morning the general superintendent wired me asking if I had anything new to report. I suppose he was only 'passing the buck' that started away up—with the Government maybe——"

"Tell them not to be in too big a hurry—it may clear up soon, and it may take time yet. Mr. Kitchell, can you invent a plausible excuse for sending your man Burrell out of town, some distance, for a few days?" I asked, casually.

Had the points of a dozen pins been suddenly introduced into the bottom of his chair, the effect on him could not have been more electrical. He sprang to his feet, indignant and angry to the point of apoplexy.

"You don't mean to say—you mean our chief clerk—you should be very cautious how you attempt to besmirch—do you actually mean him?" he fairly shouted, moving toward me menacingly.

"He is either used as a tool or is directly implicated, and with him out of town I propose to find out which. If implicated, I want to know just how far, but he must be sent on a half-hour notice—without even a chance to telephone."

"Well——!" he exploded, and began to polish his bare cranium with a big handkerchief. "I'll see—that must be arranged—it can't be done in a hurry——"

"Just as soon as you can without arousing suspicion will do, but I can't move, however, until that is done," I interrupted.

"I'm so astonished I can't think now—give me a little time."

"All right—and another thing, I wish you would have Miss Bascom transferred back here to me immediately."

"That's easy—I will have that done at once—the girl is all right, but Burrell," he said, shaking his head sadly—"Burrell takes my breath," he added as he went out, leaving the impression that the bed of a railroad superintendent was not bowered with roses.

I went out to luncheon and, although in a crowd, not a face appeared distinct. I was so absorbed in formulating plans to force an immediate issue that I didn't know what I was eating.

Upon my return I found Miss Bascom's desk in its accustomed place by the window. She bowed and greeted me as one whom she had not seen for a long time. I couldn't decide whether it was pleasure or disappointment. I was delighted to find a note from Superintendent Kitchell, saying he had found a way to hurry Burrell out on the twelve-thirty on a special errand to Kansas City that could be lengthened at will.

Glancing over at Miss Bascom, I noted her hands in front of her as she sat looking out of the window, waiting for me to give her some work. I felt that her knell had rung, the supreme moment had arrived. Knowing that, I pitied her, for I proposed to tear away the mask and reveal to her the duality of her life.

The sunlight fell on her reddish brown hair, which appeared unusually attractive that day. I smoked half of my cigar in an endeavor to keep my poise and steel myself against the pity I would have for her during a fiery ordeal. As I had promised myself, I would force her to hold up the last few pages of her life for me to read, and I would use her as a lure, an instrument, with which to fasten a crime where it belonged—even if upon herself.

Swinging squarely about, I attracted her attention. She nodded, and supposing she was to take dictation, gathered her notebook and pencils and came to me at once. I had the decided advantage of a full light upon her face, while mine was shaded.

"Miss Bascom, it is not letters I want, but a somewhat serious talk, and while I may ask some exceedingly personal questions, I would like you to feel it is not a desire to pry into your affairs."

She took the advantage of remaining silent, looking fully and frankly at me, and I thought there was the slightest smile about her delicate lips which I had believed—but now wondered—if Burrell had ever touched them.

"Miss Bascom, you know a Mr. Becker who has a plant up the river?"

Her eyes only evidenced the shock of hearing his name, but without outward sign she replied simply—"Yes."

"How well do you know him?"

"I don't think I know him very well," she replied with attempted frankness.

"You had not been here with me long until you knew I was investigating these railroad thefts, and that he was suspected?"

"I was not quite sure—you let me know so very little," she replied with an ease that was somewhat exasperating.

"Yet, during that time you were with me in—well, rather a confidential capacity—you went out with him to public places, drinking places, and could not be in ignorance of his real purpose; in fact, his proposals were outright?"

"Y-e-s," she faltered, raising her eyes, now lighted with a fire I thought impossible. I could not determine whether from resentment toward me or the recalling of certain indignities she had experienced.

"What is your attitude toward him now?"

"The same as it has always been," she replied, her bosom heaving as a result of her mental agitation.

I knew I was master now, so leisurely lit another cigar and blew a cloud of smoke between us, contemplatively.

"What is his attitude toward you?"

"I think the same as it has been." Then, looking down at her pretty hands in her lap, she half murmured, "Such a man does not change much."

This admission sounded to me like a cannon shot and I immediately asked:

"You say that your relations with him are the same as always, but you do not say what they were."

This time she looked down at the toe of a very small, neat shoe which she raised slightly to contemplate. She remained silent for some moments, the veins in her forehead swelling until they showed blue through her delicate skin.

"I—I—would like to see him punished—it seems to me that is what you want to know," she said in a low voice in which I thought there was resentment, but whether directed against me, Becker or some one else I could not determine. "I would do anything to have him punished," she added with suppressed emphasis.

"Miss Bascom, what are your relations with Chief Clerk Burrell?" I asked suddenly.

Taken completely unawares from this quarter, she drew a very short but deep breath, recovering quickly.

"They—well—I know Mr. Burrell," she admitted slowly.

"You have carried on quite a flirtation with him?"

"Yes—of course, you do not know—it would be hard to make you understand——"

"Does Mr. Becker know of your attitude—rather, I mean, your relations with Mr. Burrell?" I interrupted.

"I—well, he knows that I am well acquainted with Mr. Burrell, but I don't think he quite understands all," she admitted with some show of humility, inclining me to the conclusion that she loved Burrell and would save him. But I didn't care whom she wanted to save.

I was perhaps somewhat brutal in saying, "I have your word you would do anything to reach Mr. Becker—of course, with the understanding that you will be protected?"

She opened her mouth, showing pure white teeth, then drew her lips tightly until no red was visible, all the while looking squarely at me as she repeated slowly, knowingly—

"Yes, anything. I would go through Hell Fire!"