tyrant is turning her over to us to get her out of Fred's
way! _And he hasn't told her that Fred isn't going!_"

Now, to the Emily Burton type of woman-kind, the marring of a plot is
only less precious than the making of one. The little lady had never
been known to think deeply, but a grain of swift wit is sometimes worth
an infinity of tardy logic. Whatever intervened, the conclusion was
clear and definite; Brockway's chance must be rescued at all
hazards--and there were only two minutes in which to do it.

She scanned the throng on the platform eagerly, hoping to catch sight of
him, but the faces were all strange save one. That was the face of the
President's private secretary; and, without a moment's hesitation, she
beckoned him.

Quatremain saw the signal, and made his way to her window, taking care
to keep as many human screens as possible between himself and the group
at the car steps.

"Mrs. Burton, I believe," he said, lifting his hat.

"Yes"--hurriedly. "Do you know Mr. Brockway?"

Quatremain bowed.

"Do you know where he is now?"

"Yes; he's over in the telegraph office."

"Will you take him a message from me, quickly?"

"Certainly, with pleasure."

"Then tell him I say he is going to be lost if he doesn't catch this
train; he'll understand. And _please_ hurry--there isn't a second to
spare!"

Quatremain nodded, and vanished in the crowd. He understood nothing of
what was toward, but he suspected that what he was about to do would
somehow interfere with the President's plans, and that was sufficient to
make him run when he was well out of sight. He found Brockway in the
telegraph office, writing a message, with the slope-shouldered gentleman
at his elbow, and delivered Mrs. Burton's message _verbatim_ and shorn
of any introduction whatsoever.

The effect on the passenger agent was surprising, if not explanatory.
"Says I'm going to be--Not if I know it! I say, Tom"--flinging
the pad of blanks at the operator, to call his attention--"wire
anything--everything--this gentleman wants you to; I'm off!"

"But, Mr. ah--Brockway, I--I protest!" buzzed the gadfly, clutching at
the passenger agent; but he was not quick enough, and when the protest
was formulated, there was no one but the operator to listen to it.

The engine-bell was ringing and the train had begun to move when
Brockway dashed out of the office, and the appreciative bystanders made
way for him and cheered him as he sped away across th