“And if we do, what will you promise?”
Allan hesitated an instant.
“I’ll promise,” he said, drawing a deep breath, “that in forty-eight hours the men will be back again.”
They gazed at him a moment—at the clear eyes, the firm lips, the determined jaw—and something of his self-confidence communicated itself to them. And they promised and left the office in much better spirits than when they had entered it.
Almost before the door closed after them, Allan had summoned Stanley, and while waiting for that worthy to appear, gave orders that no information concerning the mystery, or concerning anything else connected with the strike should be given out by anyone but himself. He wanted to be left free, for a few hours, at least, to work on the case in his own way.
Stanley, evidently knowing what was in the wind, lost no time in obeying the summons. Allan told him, briefly, the story of the mystery, and laid before him the theory which he had mentioned to Mamie the night before—that this was only a preliminary move on the part of the strikers. Stanley listened in silence, and sat for a moment thinking it over when Allan had finished.
“I don’t know,” he said, at last. “I can’t say I think much of your theory. It looks to me like a mighty bold thing for the strikers to do—an’ what’s worse, a mighty foolish one. They can’t hope to capture enough men to really cripple us. Where would they keep them?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. But what other explanation can there be?”
“Well,” said Stanley, “I’m always in favour of the simplest explanation. Maybe the whole thing was just a plain robbery. Were the car seals examined after the train got in?”
“Yes—I’d thought of that. None of the seals were broken.”