The man's cry as he struck the water alarmed the crowd and caused a momentary stampede, in which Cherry and Boyd were thrust sh.o.r.eward; but the confusion quickly subsided, as an officer flung a heaving-line to the gasping creature beneath. A moment later the hatless spy was dragged to the dock, indignant and sputtering.

"I'm very sorry, sir." Boyd apologized, profusely. "It was all my fault.

The plank was steep, and I was forced off my feet. Whenever I'm followed too closely, I lose my head--it's a weakness I have."

The man ceased cursing to dart a sharp glance at him, but he was still too unmanned by his cold immersion to do more than chatter angrily. In the hubbub Emerson led his companion out into the street, where she beheld him shaking with suppressed laughter.

"Boyd," she cried, in a shocked voice, "then it was--you--you might have killed him! Suppose his head had struck a timber!"

"Yes, that would have been too bad!" he declared; then, at the sight of her face, his chuckle changed to a wolfish snarl. "He'll know enough to keep away from me hereafter. I won't play with him the next time."

"Don't! Don't! I never saw you look so. Why, it might have been murder!"

"Well?" He stared at her, curiously.

"I--I didn't think it of you." She shuddered weakly, but he only shrugged his shoulders and said, with a finality that cut off further discussion: "He's a spy! I won't be spied upon."

When Boyd entered his room at the hotel, whither he had gone after leaving Cherry at Hilliard's bank, Big George greeted him excitedly.

"Here's h.e.l.l to pay. We can't get that barkentine."

"The _Margaret?_ Why not? The charter was all arranged."

"The agent telephoned that we couldn't have her."

"What reasons did he offer?"

"None. We can't have her, that's all."

"She's the only available ship on the Sound. Our stuff will be here in a fortnight."

"Some of it will."

"What do you--?"

"Boilers held up."

"Boilers?"

"Yes. Read that." Balt tossed him a telegram.

"'Shipment delayed,'" read Boyd. "Well! This is growing interesting. Thank Heaven, other people handle machinery!" He reached for a blank, and hurriedly wrote a message cancelling his order. "I guess Cherry was right.

Marsh is fighting to delay us." He began a recital of the morning's occurrences, but before he had finished he was called to the telephone.

"More bad news!" he exclaimed, as he re-entered the room. "The Jackson- Nebur Company say they can't make delivery of their order. I wonder what next."

"We don't need nothing more to cripple us," George declared, blankly. "Any one of these blows is a knockout."

It was perhaps an hour later that Cherry entered unannounced.

"I just ran in for a minute to tell you something new. When I came up from the bank, the elevator boy at the hotel made a mistake and carried me past my floor. Without noticing the difference, I went down the hall, and whom should I run right into, coming out of a room, but our detective! As he opened the door I heard him say, 'Very well, sir, I'll report to-morrow.'"

"To whom was he reporting?"

"I don't know. A few minutes later I called you up, to tell you about it; but while I was waiting for my number, the operator evidently got the wires crossed or left a switch open, for I heard this much of a conversation:

"'Our contract covers fifty thousand cases at five dollars. We thought that was at least twenty cents under the market.'

"I was about to ring off when I remembered that you had sold your output of fifty thousand cases to Bloc & Company for five dollars a case, so I listened, on a chance, and heard another voice reply--"

"Whose voice?"

"I don't know. It said, 'We'll undersell that by one dollar.'

"'Good Lord!' said the first speaker, 'that means a loss of--' and then I was cut off. I thought I'd better come over in person instead of trusting to the wire."

"And you didn't recognize either speaker?"

"No. But I discovered at the office that rooms 610 and 612--the suite I saw that detective coming out of--are occupied by a Mr. Jones, of New York, who arrived three days ago. I'll bet anything you please that you'll hear from Bloc & Company within twenty-four hours, and that the occupant of those rooms at the Hotel Buller is Willis Marsh."

Big George began to mutter profanely. "It looks like they had us, and all because Fraser's tongue is hung in the middle."

"All the same, we'll fight it out," said Emerson, grimly. "If I can raise that money in Tacoma--" Again the telephone bell buzzed noisily.

"Bloc & Company," predicted Cherry, but for once she was wrong.

"A call from Tacoma," said Boyd, the receiver to his ear; "it must be the Second National. They were not to let me know till to-morrow." Through the open door of the adjoining room his words came distinctly, while the others listened in tense silence.

"h.e.l.lo! Yes! This is Boyd Emerson." Then followed a pause, during which the thin, rasping voice of the distant speaker murmured unintelligibly.

"Why not? Can't you give me a reason? I thought you said--Very well. Good- bye."

Emerson hung up the receiver carefully, and with the same deliberation turned to face his companions. He nodded, and spread his hands outward in an unmistakable gesture.

"What! already?" queried the girl.

"They must have been reached by 'phone."

"That detective may have called Marsh up from there."

"That means it won't do any good to try further in Tacoma. The other banks have undoubtedly been fixed, or they soon will be. If I can slip away undiscovered, I'll try Vancouver next, but I haven't much hope."

"It looks bad, doesn't it?" said Cherry.

"As we stand at present," Boyd acknowledged, "we are the owners of one hundred thousand dollars' worth of useless machinery and unsalable supplies."

"And all," mused the girl, "because of a loose tongue and a little type!"