Frank called at the town hall but found that the marshal had gone home to sleep until midnight.
"I will see him bright and early in the morning," decided Frank. "He can't make any mistake by assuming that old lodge room to be the headquarters of the United States Mail Order House Swindle. Those fellows are taking some risks. They will be in for a sudden disappearance unless the marshal nabs them soon."
"Are you going to take a day or two looking up Markham?" his mother asked at the tea table.
"I can't to-morrow, mother," continued Frank—"Other important business. I hope to get the day following, though."
Frank put in an hour on a small set of books he kept at home covering the mail order business. Then he went to bed.
Something disturbed him about two hours later, for, almost wide awake, he counted the strokes of the town bell. It was just twelve o'clock.
"Midnight, eh?" mused Frank. "That was Stet's dark and deadly hour. I say—if it isn't Stet on hand!"
Some pebbles struck the upper closed sash of the room in which Frank slept. Beyond the wire screen covering the lower half of the window Frank made out a form moving to and fro.
"Hist!" sounded out.
