Part 38

"Oh! to be sure. I know it. Why wouldn't the Superintendent give you a permit?" turning to Macloud. "It is within his jurisdiction."

"We didn't think to ask him," said Macloud. "We supposed it was necessary to apply direct to you."

"They are not familiar with the customs of the service," explained Rickrose, "and, as I may run down to see them, just issue the permit to me and party. The Chairman of the Naval Affairs Committee is inspecting the Point, if you need an excuse."

"Oh, no! none whatever--however, a duplicate will be forwarded to the Superintendent. If it should prove incompatible with the interests of the service," smiling, "he will inform the Department, and we shall have to revoke it."

He rang for his stenographer and dictated the permit. When it came in, he signed it and passed it over to Rickrose.

"Anything else I can do for you, Senator?" he asked.

"Not to-day, thank you, Mr. Secretary," Rickrose answered.

"Do you actually intend to come down?" asked Macloud, when they were in the corridor. "That will be bully."

He shot a look at Croyden. His face was a study. Hunting the Parmenter treasure, with the Chairman of the Naval Affairs Committee as a disinterested spectator, was rather startling, to say the least. The Senator's reply reassured them.

"Impossible!" he said. "The campaign opens next week, and I'm drawn as a spell-binder in the Pacific States. That figurehead was ruffling his feathers on you, just to show himself, so I thought I'd comb him down a bit. You'll experience no difficulty, I fancy. If you do, wire me, and I'll get busy. I've got to go over to the State Department now, so I'll say good-bye--anything else you want let me know."

"Next for a sporting goods shop," said Macloud as they went down the steps into Pennsylvania Avenue; "for a supply of small arms and ammunition--and, incidentally, a couple of tents. We can get a few cooking utensils in Annapolis, but we will take our meals at Carvel Hall. I think neither of us is quite ready to turn cook."

"I am sure, I'm content!" laughed Croyden. "We can hire a horse and buggy by the week, and keep them handy--better get a small tent for the horse, while we're about it."

They went to a shop on F Street, where they purchased three tents of suitable size, two Winchester rifles, and a pair of Colt's military revolvers with six-and-a-half inch barrels, and the necessary ammunition. These they directed should be sent to Annapolis immediately. Cots and blankets could be procured there, with whatever else was necessary.

They were bound up F Street, toward the Electric Station, when Macloud broke out.

"If we had another man with us, your imprisonment idea would not be so difficult--we could bag our game much more easily, and guard them more securely when we had them. As it is, it's mighty puzzling to arrange."

"True enough!" said Croyden, "but where is the man who is trustworthy--not to mention willing to take the risk, of being killed or tried for murder, for someone else's benefit? They're not many like you, Colin."

A man, who was looking listlessly in a window just ahead, turned away. He bore an air of dejection, and his clothes, while well cut, were beginning to show hard usage and carelessness.

"Axtell!" Macloud observed--"and on his uppers!"

"There's our man!" exclaimed Croyden. "He is down hard, a little money with a small divide, if successful, will get him. What do you say?"

"Nothing!" replied Macloud. "It's up to you."

Axtell saw them; he hesitated, whether to speak or to go on. Croyden solved the question.

"Hello! Axtell, what are you doing here?" he said, extending his hand.

Axtell grasped it, as a drowning man a straw.

"You're kind to ask, Mr. Croyden! Mighty kind in one who lost so much through us."

"You were not to blame--Royster's responsible, and he's gone----"

"To hell!" Axtell interrupted, bitterly. "May he burn forever!"

"Amen to that wish!" Croyden smiled. "Meanwhile, can I do anything for you? You're having a run of hard luck, aren't you?"

For a moment, Axtell did not answer--he was gulping down his thoughts.