“A hundred thousand dollars,” confided the Hawk softly to himself. “Maybe it wouldn't be easy to sell, but it would make a very nice haul—a very nice haul. It would tempt—almost anybody. Yes, bad stuff to handle; the fences would be leery probably, because I guess every last grain on this little old globe is catalogued as to ownership, and they'd be afraid it would be an open-and-shut game that what they were trying to shove would be spotted as the stolen stuff—not that it couldn't be done though, at that! There's always somebody to take a chance—on a hundred thousand dollars! And what about the institution that owns it coming across big and no questions asked to get it back again? Yes, I guess it would make a nice haul—a very nice haul. I wonder——”
The conductor had entered the car, had said something that the Hawk had not caught—and now the French specialist was on his feet.
“How long did you say?” he demanded excitedly.
“I didn't say,” replied the conductor; “I only guessed—twelve hours anyway, and if we're through under twenty-four it'll be because some one has performed a miracle.”
“Twelve hours—twenty-four!” echoed the Frenchman wildly. “But, mon Dieu, I have not that to spare to catch my steamer for Japan in San Francisco!”
“But what's wrong, conductor?” asked the Selkirk doctor. “You haven't told us that.”
“The Rainy River bridge is out,” the conductor answered.
The Rainy River bridge! The Hawk reached into his pocket, withdrew his cigarette case, and made a critical choice of one of the six identical cigarettes the case contained.
“Out! How?” the doctor from Selkirk persisted.
“No details,” said the conductor; “except that it was blown up a little while ago and that they think it's the work of the Hawk's gang. They just got word over the wire at the last stop.”