gly.

"Better keep a sharp lookout for crooks," advised the other. "There are
lots of 'em about here. See that old chap over there with the basket of
fruit in his lap?" The stranger moderated his voice and leaned toward
Tom. Tom, turning his head a trifle to follow the other's gaze, felt one
of the bags between his feet move and made a grab toward it. But the
stranger had not, apparently, touched it, unless with a foot. "That," he
was saying, "is Four-Fingered Phillips, one of the cleverest
confidence-men in New York. Well, so long!"

The other moved away, walking nonchalantly past the station policeman
who had now wandered back to his post. Tom held his breath. But the
policeman, although he undoubtedly followed the youth with his gaze for
a moment, failed to act, and Tom was not a little relieved. Even if the
fellow was a crook he seemed an awfully decent sort and Tom was glad he
hadn't been arrested.

It was getting perilously near a quarter to four now and still Steve had
not returned. Tom watched the long hand crawl toward the figure IX, saw
it reach it and pass. He would, he decided then, give Steve another five
minutes. His gaze fell on "Four-Fingered Phillips" and he viewed that
gentleman perplexedly. He didn't look in the least like a
confidence-man. He appeared to be about sixty years of age, eminently
respectable and slightly infirm. He clutched a basket of fruit and an
ivory-headed cane and seemed quite oblivious to everything about him.
New York, reflected Tom, with something like a shudder, must be a
terribly wicked place! And then, while he was still striving to discern
signs of depravity under the gentle and kindly exterior of the elderly
confidence-man, a young woman, leading a little boy of some three or
four years of age and bearing many bundles, hurried up to "Four-Fingered
Phillips," spoke, helped him to his feet and guided him away toward the
train-shed. Tom sighed. It was too much for him! Of course he had read
of female accomplices, but it didn't seem that a four-year-old child
could be a part of the game! For the first time he wondered whether "A.
L. M.," perhaps chagrined at his failure to decoy Tom to some secret
lair, had deceived him about "Four-Fingered Phillips"!

Then it was ten minutes to four, good measure, and Tom, in a sudden
panic, seized his bags, gazed about him despairingly and made for the
train-shed. He had given Steve fair warning, he told himself, and now he
could just fen