Grant nodded.
"I just got the same sort of a tip. I think it's a blind. I heard orders given to the man just ahead to report as soon as the constabulary was fully engaged there. Come on, we must shadow him."
They started forward. A moment later, from the direction of the mines, came a great sound of crashing timbers, of screams, and the rising of coal dust. Men and women appeared, running forward from every direction. The clattering of hoofs and the constabulary thundered past. Grant leaped to the center of the street.
"Someone has released the brakes from a dump train," he announced, "It crashed back into the shaft of the mine. Miners have been injured. The trouble's on. Keep that man in front in view—don't lose him!"
They hurried on, still watching the form of the hurrying spy before them. They saw him rush to a corner where he might watch the mine dump, then stand there, his eyes roving in every direction. A fight had started at the dump, between legitimate laborers and the I.W.W. agitators who seemed to have sprung from nowhere. Men fought, while women screamed. Agitators were running here, there, everywhere, blaming the dumping of the cars upon the mine owners and demanding that everyone join the I.W.W. that these men might be paid back for the damage they had caused. Again a troop of constabulary passed—then another and finally, Dixie and Grant saw the spy on the corner, suddenly turn and run.
"After him—quick!" ordered the president of the Criminology Club—"he's the one who will point out the real danger!"
Down the street the spy ran, Dixie and Grant following him closely. Into tortuous alleys, across lots—finally to approach a great, warehouse-like building, where one or two other men could be seen entering. The two detectives skirted the building, approached it cautiously and examined it for some loophole, through which they might enter. But there seemed to be none. Here and there were great doors, from which shipping had emanated in other days—but each was carefully locked and bolted now. Grant pressed his ear against one of these—and heard the jabbering and shouting of great numbers of men. He turned, and seeking a foothold, raised himself that he might peer through a corner of a window imperfectly covered from within.
"Dixie," he whispered.
"Yes," the girl was close beside him. "Do you see anything in there?"
"Yes. Practically every I.W.W. in town is here. Someone is on the platform, talking to them. I——"