Johnny had stared in wonder at the photograph attached.  It was the likeness of a man much younger than the Russian they had followed so far, but there could be no mistaking that sharp chin and frowning brow.  They had doubtless followed that very man for hundreds of miles only to lose him at this critical moment.

What had surprised him most of all had been the Jap’s remark, as he read the notice: 

“The blunderer!  Wooden-headed blunderer!” Hanada had muttered as he read the printed words.

“Would you take him if you saw him?” Johnny had asked.

The Jap had turned a strangely inquiring glance at him, then answered: 

“No!”

But they had not found him.  And now the ice was going out.  Soon ships would be coming and going.  Little gasoline schooners would dash away to catch the cream of the coast-wise trading; great steamers would bring in coal, food, and men.  In all this busy traffic, how easy it would be for the Russian to depart unseen.

Johnny sighed.  He had grown exceedingly fond of dogging the track of that man.  And besides, that thousand dollars would come in handy.  He would dearly love to see the man behind prison bars.  There would be no holding him for crimes he had attempted in Siberia, but probably the United States Government had something on him.

“Look!” exclaimed the Jap.  “The tower has tipped a full five feet!” It was true.  The ice crowding from the shore had blocked behind the tower, which stood several hundred feet from land.  A dark line of water had opened between the two towers.  Evidently the harbor committee would have some work on its hands.

“They’re running down there,” said Johnny, pointing to three men racing as if for their lives toward the shore tower.  “Wonder what they think they can do?”

“Looks like the two behind were chasing the fellow in the lead,” said Hanada.

“They are!” exclaimed Johnny.  “Poor place for safety, I’d say, but he’s got quite a lead.”

At that instant the man in front disappeared behind the shore tower.  As they watched, they saw a strange thing:  the swinging platform began to move slowly along the rusty cable, and, just as it got under way, a man leaped out upon it.

“He’s started the electric motor and is giving himself a ride,” explained Johnny, “but if it’s as bad as that, it must be pretty bad.  He’s desperate, that’s all.  The outer tower’s likely to go over at any moment and dash him to death.  Even if he makes it, where’ll he be?  Going out to sea on the floe, that’s all.”

Slowly the platform crept across the space over the black waters, then over the tumbling ice.  The outer tower could be seen to dip in toward the shore.  The cable sagged.  The two other runners were nearing the inner tower.

“C’mon!” exclaimed Johnny, “The Golden West.  A telescope!”

Closely followed by Hanada, he leaped away toward the hotel where, in a room especially prepared for it, was a huge brass telescope mounted on a tripod.  Johnny, glancing out to sea, knew that the tower would be over in another thirty seconds.  The platform was not twenty feet from its goal.  His eye was now at the telescope.  One second and he swung the instrument about.  Then a gasp escaped his lips: