responded Ralph, "but I know they won't be there much after midnight.
"Good—wait a minute," directed Forgan.
He hurried back into the house and returned drawing on his coat. "I was just going to bed," he explained. "Now, then, Fairbanks," as he led the way to the street, "tell your story—quick."
Ralph recited his experience of the past four hours, and Forgan hastened his steps as the narration developed the necessity of sharp, urgent action.
"Fairbanks, you are a trump!" commended Forgan, as the story was all told. "I'll leave you here. You get home, into dry clothes, and have your hurt attended to. You had better take the sick-list benefits for a day or two. Good-night—till I have something more definite to say to you."
A dismissal did not suit Ralph at all. It looked like crowding him out of an exciting and interesting game only half-finished.
"I might help you some further," he began, but Forgan interrupted him with the words:
"You've done the real work, Fairbanks, and neither of us will care to muddle in with the details of arrest. I shall put the matter directly in the hands of the road detective, Matthewson. I am sorry for his father's sake if Ike Slump gets
