Loring was polishing his eye-glasses with uncommon vigor.

"I wish you'd drop it, David, if it isn't too late. I can't help feeling
as if I had prodded you into it, whatever it is."

Kent linked arms with him and led him back to the street entrance.

"Go away, Grantham, and don't come back again," he commanded. "Then you
can swear truthfully that you didn't know anything about it. It is too
late to interfere, and you are not responsible for me. Go up to see
Portia; she'll keep you interested while you wait."

When Loring was gone, Kent went back to the wicket in the grille; but
M'Tosh, who was always a busy man at train-time, had disappeared again.

It was a standing mystery to the train-master, and to the rank and file,
why Receiver Guilford had elected to ignore the fact that he was within
three hours of a strike which promised to include at least four-fifths of
his operatives; had taken no steps for defense, and had not confided, as
it appeared, in the members of his own official staff.

But Kent was at no loss to account for the official silence. If the secret
could be kept for a few hours longer, the junto would unload the
Trans-Western, strike, tie-up and general demoralization, upon an
unsuspecting Overland management.

None the less, there were other things unexplainable even to Kent; for
one, this night flitting to Gaston to put the finishing touch on an
edifice of fraud which had been builded shamelessly in the light of day.