"They asked me whom the stuff was addressed to," Dave continued, "and I had to admit that I didn't know."
"It's addressed to Simon Tripps, to be called for. Identification by letter herewith," read Dick Prescott, from the label.
"Yes; I have the letter," nodded Mr. Drowan. "It contains the signature of the party who's to call for the box. That's all the identification that's asked."
At this moment Officer Hemingway, in plain clothes, came in, followed by a policeman in uniform.
Hemingway took a look at the stuff slowly oozing out of a corner of the box.
"My bet is nitroglycerine—-what the bank robbers call 'soup,'" declared Hemingway, almost in a whisper. "All right; we'll take it up to the station house. Then we'll send for Dr. Thornton, who is the best chemist hereabouts. As soon as we get this stuff to the station house I'll hustle back and hide against the coming of Mr. Tripps. If he comes before I get back, jump on the fellow and hold him for me, no matter what kind of a fight he puts up."
Dave gazed after the retreating figures of the policemen.
"Bright man, that Hemingway," he remarked. "If Tripps shows up, we are to jump on him and nail him—-no matter if he hauls out two six-shooter and turns 'em on us"
"We can grab any one man, and hold him," returned Dick, confidently. "All we've got to do is to get at him from all sides. See here, Dave, if a fellow comes in and tells you he's Tripps, you repeat the name as though you weren't sure. As soon as we hear the name, Tom and I can jump on him from behind, and you can sail in in front. Eh, Reade?"
"It sounds good," nodded Tom. "I'll take a chance on it, Dick, with you to engineer the job."