On his return Jim had to step aside to avoid another ruffian, who was walking down with profane mutterings. This time Harvey had a hand in the fighting, and he leaned over the railing to answer the man's oaths with a threat of the law. Jim and Harvey stood aside while the four detectives and the deputy led the remainder of the gang downstairs to await the police.
From the various offices frightened faces were peering through half-open doors. A few stripling clerks appeared with belated offers of assistance, but Jim waved them back. Already Jim was cooling off. He could not afford to retain such a passion, and he mopped his face and neck for a few moments without speaking. His breath was gone, but he began to recover it.
“Hello,” he said, at length, “where's McNally?”
Harvey started, then ran down the hall, glancing hastily into the different offices. When he returned, Jim had vanished. While he stood irresolute, two stalwart brakemen appeared from the train shed and stood on the landing. One of them called up,—
“Can we help you, sir?”
“Wait a minute,” said Harvey.
A door opened down the hall. Harvey looked toward the sound, and saw Jim backing out of the wash-room, followed by McNally, whose arm was held firmly in Jim's grasp. They came toward Harvey in silence.
“He was hiding, West,” said Jim, a savage eagerness in his voice. “He hadn't the nerve to stick it out. Corker, isn't he?”
McNally stood for a moment looking doggedly out through the window over the roof of the shed.
“You've got yourself into a mess, Weeks,” he said, speaking slowly in an effort to bring himself under control. “This'll land you in Joliet.”