"Yes."

"Not there?"

"Wait a minute. You say he took the 4.30?"

"All right. Good-by."

Harvey turned back to his desk with a scowl. He passed the next hour
clearing up what was left of the day's work; then he went out to dinner,
and at 6.45 met Jim Weeks at the Northern Station.

"Hello," said the magnate, "what's up?"

"Porter is," replied Harvey. "I cornered him and McNally with Thompson and
Wing, and I think McNally's gone after the Tillman stock."

"I guess not," Jim smiled indulgently. "They can't touch it. Tell me what
you know."

Harvey related his experience, and as one detail followed another Jim's
eyebrows came together. He took out his watch and looked at it, then his
eye swept the broad row of trains in the gloomy, barnlike station. The
hands on the three-sided clock pointed to seven, and the Northern
Vestibule Limited began to roll out on its run to Manchester and the West.
Suddenly Jim broke in:--

"I'm going to Tillman. Back to-morrow."