Kent stepped quickly to the receiver's window. The only expedient he could
think of was open to reproach, but it was no time to be over-scrupulous.

"Pardon me," he began, "but didn't the gentleman who was just here forget
to sign his message?"

The little hook caught its minnow. The receiving clerk was folding Hawk's
message to place it in the leather carrier of the pneumatic tube, but he
opened and examined it.

"No," he said; "it's signed all right: 'J.B. Halkett, G.S.'"

"Ah!" said Kent. "That's a little odd. Mr. Halkett is out of town, and
this gentleman, Mr. Hawk, is not in his department. I believe I should
investigate a little before sending that, if I were you."

Having thus sown the small seed of suspicion, which, by the by, fell on
barren soil, Kent lost no time in calling up M'Tosh over the nearest
telephone.

"Do our agents on the Western Division handle Western Union business?" he
asked.

The reply came promptly.

"Yes; locally. The W-U. has an independent line to Breezeland Inn and
points beyond."

"Well, our right-of-way man has just sent a telegram to all agents,
signing Halkett's name. I don't know what he said in it, but you can