's happened
here in years, and I wasn't in on it. I certainly wish you'd put me wise
to it."

"By the way," inquired Magee, "did you notice the passengers from here
on the ten-thirty train last night?"

"Ten-thirty," repeated the agent. "Say, what sort of hours do you think
I keep? A man has to get some sleep, even if he does work for a
railroad. I wasn't here at ten-thirty last night. Young Cal Hunt was on
duty then. He's home and in bed now."

No help there. Into the night the girl and the two hundred thousand had
fled together, and Mr. Magee could only wait, and wonder, as to the
meaning of that flight.

Two drooping figures entered the station--the mayor and his faithful
lieutenant, Max. The dignity of the former had faded like a flower, and
the same withered simile might have been applied with equal force to the
accustomed jauntiness of Lou.

"Good morning," said Mr. Magee in greeting. "Taking an early train, too,
eh? Have a pleasant night?"

"Young man," replied Cargan, "if you've ever put up at a hotel in a town
the size of this, called the Commercial House, you know that last
question has just one answer--manslaughter. I heard a minister say once
that all drummers are bound for hell. If they are, it'll be a pleasant
change for 'em."

Mr. Max delved beneath his overcoat, and brought forth the materials for
a cigarette, which he rolled between yellow fingers.

"If I was a drummer," he said dolefully, "one breakfast--was that what
they called it, Jim?--one breakfast like we just passed through would
drive me into the awful habit of reading one of these here books of
_Drummers' Yarns_."

"Sorry," smiled Magee. "We had an excellent breakfast at Mrs. Quimby's.
Really, you should have stayed. By the way, where is Bland?"

"Got shaky in the knees," said Cargan. "Afraid of the reformers. Ain't
had much experience in these things, or he'd know he might just as well
tremble at the approach of a blue-bottle fly. We put him on a train
going the other direction from Reuton early this morning. He thinks he'd
better seek his fortune elsewhere." He leaned in heavy confidence toward
Magee. "Say, young fellow," he whispered, "put me wise. That little
sleight of hand game you worked last night had me dizzy. Where's the
coin? Where's the girl? What's the game? Take the boodle and welcome--it
ain't mine--but put me next to what's doing, so I'll know how my
instalment of this serial story ought to read."

"Mr. Cargan,"