Not so fast!

Just as they were casting off lines, a tall, grim-faced, yellow-haired dude in an expensive topcoat came marching up the powder pier, accompanied by a sidekick who looked like a Fifth Avenue swell except for the fine white lines of boxing scars creasing his brow. They jumped aboard, light on their feet as acrobats, and the yellow-haired man flashed a Van Dorn detective badge. He said he was Chief Investigator Isaac Bell, and this was Detective Archibald Abbott, and he demanded to see Petrie's papers. The ice in Bell's eyes told Petrie not to joke about going home for supper, and he waited patiently while his dispatches were read line by line for the tenth time that afternoon.

It was the sidekick, Abbott, who finally said, in a voice straight out of New York's Hell's Kitchen, "All right, Cap, shove off. Sorry to hold you up, but we're not taking any chances." He beckoned a Southern Pacific Railroad bull with arms like a gorilla. "McColleen, you ride with Captain Petrie. He's headed for the Upper Hudson Pulverized Slate Company at Sutton Point. He's got twenty-five tons of dynamite in his hold. Anyone tries to change course, shoot the bastard!"

Then Abbott threw an arm around Isaac Bell's shoulders and tried to steer him up the gangplank, and speaking in an entirely dif ferent voice that sounded like he truly was a Fifth Avenue swell, said, "That's it, my friend. You've been at it full bore for a straight week. You've left good chaps in charge. We're taking a night off."

"No," growled Bell, casting an anxious eye on the five remaining boxcars of the powder train. Dusk was gathering. Three railroad guards were aiming a water-cooled, tripod-mounted, belt-fed Vickers automatic machine gun at the gate that blocked the rails from the main freight yards.

"Mr. Van Dorn's orders," said Abbott. "He says if you won't take the night off, you're off the case and so am I. He's not fooling, Isaac. He said he wants clear heads all around. He even bought us tickets to the Follies."

"I thought it closed."

"The show's reopened for a special run while they're getting it ready to take on tour. My friend the newspaper critic called it, quote, 'The best melange of mirth, music, and pretty girls that has been seen here in many a year.' Everyone in town is beating down doors to get tickets. We've got 'em! Come. We'll get dressed, and have a bite at my club first."

"First," Bell said grimly, "I want three fully loaded coal tenders parked, brake wheels locked, on the other side of that gate, in case some brain gets a bright idea to ram it with a locomotive."

Chapter 22.