W-w-what do you want?" he asked.

"Got your keys with you?"

"Y-yes."

"Come with us."

Wally breathed more freely. For a moment he had thought this man had
come to take summary vengeance on him.

They led him by alleys and back streets to the office of the Macdonald
Yukon Trading Company. Under orders he knocked on the door and called
out who he was. Gordon crouched close to the log wall, Strong behind
him.

"Let me in, Olson," ordered Selfridge again.

The door opened, and a man stood on the threshold. Elliot was on top of
him like a panther. The man went down as though his knees were oiled
hinges. Before he could gather his slow wits, the barrel of a revolver
was shoved against his teeth.

"Take it easy, Olson," advised Gordon. "Get up--slowly. Now, step back
into the office. Keep your hands up."

Strong closed and locked the door behind them.

"I want my papers, Selfridge. Dig up your keys and get them for me,"
Elliot commanded.

Wally did not need any keys. He knew the combination of the safe and
opened it. From an inner drawer he drew a bunch of papers. Gordon looked
them over carefully. Strong sat on a table and toyed with a revolver
which he jammed playfully into the stomach of his fat prisoner.

"All here," announced the field agent.

The safe-robbers locked their prisoners in the office and disappeared
into the night. They stopped at the house of the collector of customs, a
genial young fellow with whom Elliot had played tennis a good deal, and
left the papers in his hands for safe-keeping. After which they returned
to the hotel and reached the second floor by way of the back stairs used
by the servants.

Here they parted, each going to his own room. Gordon slept like a
schoolboy and woke only when the sun poured through the window upon his
bed in a broad ribbon of warm gold.

He got up, bathed, dressed, and went down into the hotel dining-room.
The waiters looked at him in amazement. Presently the cook peered in
at him from the kitchen and the clerk made an excuse to drop into the
room. Gordon ate as if nothing were the matter, apparently unaware of
the excitement he was causing. He paid not the least attention to the
nudging and the whispering. After he had finished breakfast, he lit a
cigar, leaned back in his chair, and smoked placidly.

Presently an eruption of men poured into the room. At the head of them
was Gopher Jones. Near the rear Wally Selfridge lingered modestly. He
was not