"About his nephew, Dudley Trevor."
Ralph was fairly taken off his feet, as the saying goes. He grasped Van's arm excitedly.
"See here, Van Sherwin," he cried. "What do you know of Mr. Trevor?"
"Only that he is at our headquarters with a broken arm, and he sent me here to wire his uncle the fact."
Ralph was delighted. He could scarcely credit the glad news. He led Van up to the railroad president and the road detective with the words:
"Gentlemen, I am very happy to tell you that Mr. Trevor is in safe hands, and my friend here will explain. Van Sherwin, this is Mr. Grant, the president of the Great Northern."
Van nodded in his crisp, off-hand way to Adair, whom he knew, and took off his cap to his dignified companion.
His story was to his auditors most remarkable and exciting, but to Van only the narration of a perfectly natural occurrence. Early that morning there had come into "headquarters," as Van termed it, a young man in an almost exhausted condition. His attire was all torn with brambles and bushes and one arm was broken.
"He told us his name, and said that he had escaped from kidnappers. Mr. Gibson attended to
