A shout from Grant brushed the droning voice of the clerk aside.
"Stop! No vote must be taken until this man tells his story."
As though stirred by a giant hand, the assemblage recoiled. Men rose from their seats to see the person whose temerity thus interrupted the vote of their Union. Down the aisle the German dock foreman, whose vociferousness of a short time before had helped to keep the evening in an uproar, passed a hand over his face and slid into his seat again.
With dragging feet the spy was roughly shoved down the aisle by the two policemen, followed by Grant. They climbed to the platform and faced the listening mass of men.
For a moment Grant looked down on them in silence. Then he spoke:
"You men are laboring under a delusion. I am here to prove it to you, and this—gentleman," he ironically waved a hand toward the spy, "will help me." He turned to the spy. "Where is the man who gave you orders to turn that boat over? Remember, I know who he is. I want you to tell them."
The prisoner glanced over the audience fear-fully. He lifted a limp hand and pointed.
"There!"
Halfway down the hall the huge form of the dock foreman rose and started with a rush toward the door. But his path was blocked. Hands shot out to seize his and pinion them, struggling, to his sides. Fighting and cursing they carried him to the platform and faced him toward the spy.
Ten minutes of excited talking followed, hot with denials and accusations bandied between the foreman and the spy. Suddenly the dock foreman turned to his audience.