"I refuse to believe it," Tom retorted. "There's a mystery in his fate,
but I simply won't believe that Harry has been killed."

"Then why didn't you hear from him further?"

"That's the mystery."

Tom had shaped their course for the barracks occupied by the foremen. He
bounded upon the little porch and began to hammer on the door with both
fists.

"Turn out, everybody!" Tom bellowed. "Every foreman is on duty to-night.
Show a light, and let us in as soon as you can."

Some one was heard stirring. Then Dill, one of the foremen, admitted the
callers.

"Are all the others up?" Reade asked, sharply.

"Yes, sir."

"Good! Tell your associates to finish dressing as quickly as possible and
to meet me in the office."

"The office" was a little room just inside the entrance to the building.
It was a room where the foremen sat and chatted in the evenings.

"Put a double-hustle on, everyone," Tom called after Dill.