y stowed in an inner
pocket, and started by the shortest cut he knew from the yards.

Bart did not even pause at the express office, where he had left Colonel
Harrington. He ran all the way half across the silent, sleeping town,
and never halted until he reached the Haven homestead.

He did not go to the front door, but, well acquainted with the
disposition of the household, paused under a rear window, picked up a
handful of gravel, threw it against the upper panes, and gave three low
but distinct whistling trills.

He could hear a prompt rustling. In less than forty seconds Darry Haven
stuck his head out of the window.

"Hello!" he hailed, rubbing his eyes.

"Come down, quick," directed Bart. "Bring Bob, too."

"What's the lark, Bart?"

"No lark at all," answered Bart--"strictly business. Don't take a
minute. No need disturbing the folks. You can be back inside of an
hour."

Bob, hatless and without a collar, came sliding down the lightning rod
two minutes later. Darry landed on the ground almost simultaneously,
simply letting himself drop from the window sill.

"Two dollars apiece for half an hour's work," said Bart, and then told
his companions the details of the special mission in which he required
their services.

"Ginger! but you're nerve and action," commented the admiring Bob.

"And good to your friends," put in Darry.

They passed the pickle factory. It stood on the edge of the town, and
the residence of the senior partner of Martin & Company, whose name had
been mentioned in the telegram, was nearly half a mile further away.

"Eleven thirty-five," announced Bart, a trifle anxiously. "It does not
give us much time. I hope there's no slip anywhere."

At just fifteen minutes of midnight the strange trio passed up the
graveled walk leading to the Martin mansion. The front door had a
ponderous old-fashioned knocker, and Bart plied it without ceremony.

He began to grow nervous as three minutes passed by, and not the least
attention was paid to his summons.

Suddenly an upper window was thrust up, and a man's head came into view.

"Who's there?" demanded a gruff, impatient voice.

"Is this Mr. Martin, Mr. A.B. Martin?" inquired Bart.

"Yes, it is--what do you want?"

"I have an express package for you," explained Bart.

"Oh, you have?" snapped Mr. Martin. "What the mischief do you mean
waking a man up at midnight on a thing like that! Deliver it at the
factory in the morning."

The speake