The safe lay flat on its back where it had fallen when the floor had burned away.  It was an old-fashioned affair with a simple combination attachment, and so far as Bart could make out had suffered no damage beyond having its coat of lacquer and gilt lettering burned off.

He leaned over and felt of its surface, which retained scarcely any heat now.

“We heard the old iron box was caught open by the fire and everything in it burned up,” spoke one of the trackmen.

“I supposed so myself,” said Bart, “but it seems otherwise.  I wonder how heavy it is?”

“Wait till I get some tackle,” said one of the workmen.

He went away and returned with two crowbars and a pulley and block tackle.

It was no work at all for those stout, experienced fellows to get the safe clear of the ruins, and, with the aid of a big truck they brought from the freight house, convey it to the new express quarters.

Just as the town bell rang out four o’clock, Mr. Leslie stepped over the threshold.

He glanced about the place briskly, gave a start as he noticed the heap of account books at Bart’s elbow, and looked both pleased and puzzled as his eyes lighted on the safe.

“Why, Stirling!” he exclaimed, “are you a wizard?”

“Not quite,” replied Bart with a smile, “but someone else seems to be.”

“Are those the office books we thought burned up, and the safe?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How is this?”

Bart told of the mysterious return of the books and of the scrap of writing that had led him to dig up the safe.

“That’s a pretty strange circumstance,” observed Mr. Leslie thoughtfully.  “How do you account for it?”

“I can’t,” admitted Bart, “except to theorize, of course, that someone had enough interest in myself or the company to rush into the burning shed and save the books and close the safe while I was getting my father to safety.”

“That’s rational, but who was it?” persisted Mr. Leslie.

“Whoever it was,” said Bart, “he has certainly proved himself a good, true friend.”

“Have you no idea who it is?” challenged Mr. Leslie sharply.

Bart hesitated for a moment.

“Why, yes,” he admitted finally.  “I am pretty sure who it is.  I do not know his name, but I have seen him several times,” and Bart thought it best to reveal to his superior all he knew about the roustabout who had warned him of the burglary, who had assisted him in rescuing his father from the burning express shed, and who had vanished suddenly as people began to crowd to the scene of the blaze.

“I would like to meet that man!” commented Mr. Leslie.

“I hardly think that possible,” explained Bart.  “He seems to be afraid to face the open daylight, and, as you see, has not even manifested himself to me, except in a covert way.”

“He is some poor unfortunate in trouble,” said the superintendent.  “If you do see him, Stirling, give him that—­from the express company.”