"It might be," Renshaw admitted thoughtfully. "But to me it seems that
there must be a lot more behind the whole terrible matter."
"That's the way it strikes me, too," Tom nodded. "However, you're dressed,
so now we can hurry out and get busy."
"What shall we do first?" Superintendent Renshaw inquired.
"That's what I've been thinking over while you were dressing," Tom replied.
"Of course the one thing of real importance is to find Hazelton."
"Killed, beyond a doubt," replied the older man.
"I refuse to believe it," Tom retorted. "There's a mystery in his fate,
but I simply won't believe that Harry has been killed."
"Then why didn't you hear from him further?"
"That's the mystery."
Tom had shaped their course for the barracks occupied by the foremen. He
bounded upon the little porch and began to hammer on the door with both
fists.
"Turn out, everybody!" Tom bellowed. "Every foreman is on duty to-night.
Show a light, and let us in as soon as you can."
Some one was heard stirring. Then Dill, one of the foremen, admitted the
callers.
"Are all the others up?" Reade asked, sharply.
"Yes, sir."
"Good! Tell your associates to finish dressing as quickly as possible and
to meet me in the office.
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