“Down near the shipyards when the last of the day shift comes off will be the time and place,” said one of the four smudge-faced men.

“Right!” declared another.

From the big shipyard poured hundreds of men.  As they began to emerge from the gate the four soiled-faced individuals who had come from Joe’s dressing tent mingled with them.  They heard some one ask: 

“Are you sure the tickets’ll be good?”

“Sure,” was the answer.  “This fellow and his pal are part of the show.  He sells ’em this way so there won’t be such a crowd at the wagon, and that’s why he makes such a big discount.  It sort of guarantees a pretty big crowd, too.  Oh, the tickets are good, all right.  There’s the ticket guy now.”

The crowd of men turned down a side street, and the four smutty-countenanced men went with them.  One of the four said: 

“Wait till he sells a few tickets and then nab him.”

“There’s two of ’em,” said another voice.

“Nab ’em both!  They work together.”

Soon the men from the shipyard surrounded the two men, one of whom had been designated by the sentence:  “There’s the ticket guy now.”

Money began to change hands, and tickets were passed around.  The four men who had kept together shoved their way through the crowd of ship workers.

“How much are the tickets?” one asked.

“Thirty-five cents,” was the answer.  “They’ll cost you fifty or seventy-five at the wagon.  The only reason we sell ’em this way is to avoid the rush.  Then, too, you’re really buying ’em at wholesale.”

“I’ll take four,” said the man of the quartette.

“Here you are!  Four.”

There was another clink of money and a rustle of slips of paper.  Then the man who had passed over the tickets, said: 

“Here’s your change.  That was a five you gave me, wasn’t it?  Take your change.”

“And you take yours, Bill Carfax!” suddenly cried one of the four.  “It’s quite a sudden change, too!”

There was a flash of something bright, a metallic click—­two of them, in fact—­and the ticket seller tried to break away.  But he was held by the handcuffs on his wrists, one of the four grasping them by the connecting chain.

“Get the other!” cried a sharp voice.

There was a scuffle, another flash of something bright, two more clicks, and one of the four cried: 

“That’ll be about all from you, Jed Lewis, alias Inky Jed.”

The two handcuffed men seemed to know that the game was up.  They shrugged their shoulders, looked at each other, and grew quiet suddenly.  The set trap had been successfully sprung.

“Hey! what’s the big idea?”

“What’s it all about?”

“Don’t we get our tickets?”

Thus cried the men from the shipyards.

“You don’t want these tickets,” said Joe Strong, for as Bill Carfax looked more closely at one of the four he recognized him as the young circus man.  “You don’t want any tickets these men could sell you.”