It did not take the three long to get to the front gates of the mill. When they reached there, they found a lively scene, that none of them had anticipated. The yard was full of fighting men.
“What’s it all about?” asked Chick of the nearest man, who seemed to be trying to break into the row without knowing just whom to hit. “Who’s fighting?”
“Everybody!” howled the man. “It’s that guy, Gordon, who’s got the thing going. He and Douglas.”
Nick remembered that Milmarsh had assumed the name of Robert Gordon when working in the lumber woods at Maple, and he recalled also that there had been a foreman named Douglas out there. He wondered whether this was merely a coincidence, or whether it had some special significance.
There was no time for speculation on anything, however. The detective could see that about a dozen men were aiming at one young fellow, who, broad-shouldered and active as he was, found it difficult to stand off all his assailants at once.
The young man backed away from the crowd—not in haste or with any show of fear, however. As he came nearer to Carter and his two assistants, they were able to see his face in the red glow of the mill.
“T. Burton Potter!” cried Chick.
“That’s who it is!” agreed Patsy.
“Howard Milmarsh or his wraith!” breathed Nick.
Until now he had been a little doubtful as to the identity of T. Burton Potter, although his mind was pretty nearly made up. But he felt sure that this clean-limbed young man, who used his fists so scientifically, could not be any one but the heir to the Milmarsh fortune.