Ralph paced the floor of the little office lost in deep thought. The foreman watched him grimly from the corner of one eye. The tramp, lounging amid the unusual luxury of a big swivel chair, seemed enjoying hugely the comfort of the well-heated room and ready for anything that came along, now that he was no longer cold or hungry. He, too, watched Ralph, and as the latter with a kind of start: stopped in his walk and his face lightened up, the tramp drawled out:

"Something struck you, guv'nor--give it a voice."

"You're pretty sharp," said Ralph, with a smile at the speaker. Then he walked over to the foreman. "Mr. Bartlett," he continued, "I'd like to take a look through your plant here, if you've no objection."

"None at all, only I wonder why?" submitted Bartlett, with a searching glance at Ralph.

"I was thinking of something," explained Ralph--"how to beat those fellows who are coming here at midnight."

"I hope you've hit it!" exclaimed the foreman eagerly.

"We shall see."

Bartlett took a lantern, and leaving the tramp in the office he led Ralph into the large room adjoining. It was filled with long flat vats filled with some dark liquid. There was a sulphurous smell to the place.

The foreman made no explanations until he reached the furnace room.

"You see those big tanks?" he spoke now. "Those are the melters. Mr.

Glidden spent a great deal of money to get them right. Run up that ladder at the side and look over the rim."

Ralph did so. The tank he looked into was filled with bars that looked like lead, with smaller fragments of a darker metal and great chunks that resembled resin. When he came down to the floor he opened the door of the furnace underneath and peered in. His face took on a satisfied look.

"See here," said Bartlett, as they reentered the big room on their way back to the office. "Those pipes running from each furnace convey the molten metal into those vats. There is a great hissing and bubbling, I can tell you. It's a sort of red-hot cyaniding process. The fumes, though! No man could walk through this room when the pour is on and come out alive."

"You don't say so?" murmured Ralph. Then he went up close to the foreman and took him by lapel of his coat.

"Mr. Bartlett," he said, "I see you are all ready to fire up."

"At a minute's notice," replied the foreman, with a gleam of pride in his eye.

"I suppose within an hour, two hours, you could get those melters so hot they are red all through?"

"Pretty nigh, I tell you."

"And you could fill this room here with fumes that would make a man hesitate about crossing the dead line, until you got ready to shut off the feeders?"

"You couldn't hit it closer if you'd been brought up to the business,"

declared the foreman with unction.

"Good. Now then--whisper."

They were near the office door. Ralph talked rapidly in a low tone into the ear of his companion. The latter gave a great start. Then he grinned. Then, alive with animation, he clapped Ralph mightily on the back.

"Lad," he cried with enthusiasm, "you're better than the lawyer and the whole constable force of Derby put together."

"What do you say about my plan?" inquired Ralph.

"Say--bully for you, that's what I say!" almost shouted the factory foreman.

"If you start at eleven o'clock you'll be ready when that gang arrives?"

"Ready, and time to spare. Say, but you've been thinking to some purpose."

The foreman burst into a gay whistle as he reentered the office. The tramp regarded him searchingly, and then looked at Ralph as if he half guessed that they were up to something. He was too indolent, however, to delve for the facts.

The lawyer did not put in an appearance, Ralph knew by the whistles just what trains were arriving at Derby. The 8 p. m. came and pa.s.sed on its way. Then the 10:30. By five minutes of eleven Ralph decided that the lawyer must have missed connection in some way, for he did not arrive at the plant.

Just as the office clock struck eleven, Ralph arose from his chair and walked up in front of the tramp.

"Do you want to earn a few dollars?" he inquired.

"Sure, that's me," answered the man--"what doing?"

"Helping Mr. Bartlett here. It will be hot work, but he'll do most of it, he tells me."

"Oh, in the factory here."

"Yes."

"I'd rather stay here in the office and handle that Winchester when the mob comes," observed the tramp.

"You can do ten times as much good doing what I want you to do."

"Will it have anything to do with knocking out Dorsett's plans?"

"Everything."

The tramp arose to his feet like a jumping jack, his face wearing an eager grin.

"Guv'nor," he said, "I'd trust you in most anything. I'd like to have a front seat out here to see the fun when the show begins, but if my being behind the scenes helps, depend on me."

"I do," said Ralph. "You go with Mr. Bartlett."

Ralph sat down as the two men disappeared. He listened attentively to the sounds from the melting room. Soon the big blast chimney began to roar, and glancing out of the window Ralph could see fitful red gleams shoot out upon the snow.

There was a speaking tube running from the office to Bartlett's post of duty. Soon it whistled, and the foreman announced:

"All ready."

"So am I," mused Ralph, as he counted the minutes roll away. He tried to imagine just what was going to happen and how he would meet the crisis when it arrived.

Midnight came, and one minute after twelve. Five, ten, fifteen minutes pa.s.sed away. Then Ralph bent his ear. Some kind of a conveyance was coming down the turnpike. He could hear the ring of a horse's hoofs and the hard wheels crunching the frozen snow.

Ralph picked up a newspaper and pretended to read it, looking as comfortable and unconcerned as possible.

"Whoa!" sounded a loud voice outside.

Then other voices mingled in confusion. Some one came to the window and peered in. There was a m.u.f.fled consultation outside. Finally a thunderous knock sounded at the door, and a stentorian voice shouted out:

"Open--in the name of the law!"