rt.

Telegraph companies give quick service on telegrams relating to police
business. So it was not long ere the operator's receiving instrument
began to click with the local call.

The first dispatch that the operator passed out through the grated
window was addressed to Powell Seaton, and signed by the chief at
Beaufort. It read:

Thank you for information. Have wired chief of police,
Mocalee.

The second telegram, following almost instantly, was addressed to the
chief of police of Mocalee. It ran:

Arrest Anson Dalton, wanted by U. S. authorities on
charge of smuggling. Powell Seaton will point him out to
you. Notify me when arrested. Be careful to get all Dalton
baggage. Hold for orders.

"That's all I wanter know," said Hunter, laconically, biting off the
end of his straw and spitting it out. "Lead me to your friend Dalton,
Mr. Seaton."

"I ought to warn you that he's a desperate fellow," murmured Mr.
Seaton, as the pair left the telegraph office together.

"I've seen that kind before," nodded Mr. Hunter, curtly.

"Pardon me, but I notice you carry a club. Dalton will undoubtedly
have a revolver, and he's likely to be ugly enough to attempt to use
it," explained Mr. Seaton, apprehensively. "May I ask if you have a
pistol, too?"

"I always carry all the tools I need," answered Jim Hunter. "I don't
gen'rally 'low any man to pull a gun on me, though. Sometimes I'm
quicker'n I gen'rally look."

There was an air of quiet, forceful reserve about this Florida
policeman that made Powell Seaton feel more confident that the
business in hand would not be defeated for lack of preparation. They
made their way quickly to the hotel.

Anson Dalton and his soft-voiced companion were still at table, though
evidently near the end of their meal.

Hank Butts, at a signal from his captain, had left the table. Hank had
donned his rain-coat again, and was now waiting in the corridor
leading to the stairs, in case Dalton should pass that way.

A moment later Joe left the table, stepping through the office and out
onto the porch.

[Illustration: The Table Struck Hunter Amidships.]

Dalton and Dawley were just rising when Halstead, seated where he
could see out into the office, saw Seaton and a stranger enter.

"Now, the music will begin," thought Tom Halstead, throbbing.

"There he is, officer--the dark one!" cried Powell Seaton, leading the
way into the dining room.

Jim Hunter lost no time. He made a spring