peared in the direction of the depot, Ralph's face grew to a void of wonder, doubt, and anxiety.
"It was Van Sherwan!" he breathed excitedly—"Van Sherwin, surely. Van a thief? Oh, there is some mistake!"
Ralph was greatly worked up. There was nothing in the rough attire and smirched face of the prisoner to recall the neatly-dressed Van whom Ralph had last seen. Yet as the prisoner had passed the tower, a gesture, the bearing of the latter, a familiar feature had enlightened Ralph unmistakably.
"Mr. Knight," he said quickly, "can I have ten minutes off?"
"Sure thing. What's up, Fairbanks?—you look disturbed," spoke Knight curiously.
"I—I want to run up to the depot to ask about a friend," explained Ralph, rather lamely.
He slipped on a coat and was down the ladder in a jiffy. Once out of the tower, he ran across the tracks in the direction of the depot.
Passing a switch shanty, a figure stepped from its side directly in his path. A challenging voice said quickly:
"Hold on, there, Ralph Fairbanks."
"Oh, you, Slavin?" said Ralph. "Don't delay me. I am in a hurry."
"I see you are. No need," proclaimed Slavin
