“Until you do, I obey official instructions,” announced Bart.  “Please do not degrade yourself and embarrass me, Colonel Harrington, by saying anything further on this score.  I will not sell my honor, nor swerve a hair’s breadth from a line of duty plain and clear.  The package you refer to was legally purchased by the highest bidder, I hold it temporarily in trust for him.  It is as safe and sacred with me as if it was the property of the First National Bank of Pleasantville.”

Colonel Harrington squirmed, got red and pale by turns, gripped his cane fiercely, and then, relaxed with a groan.

“It’s my property!” he declared.  “I can prove it’s my property.”

“Then I suggest that you persuade the person who bought it of that fact,” said Bart.

“Say!” shot out the colonel eagerly, his eye brightening, “if I bring an order from that same person, will you give up the package?”

Bart hesitated.

“You know where he is, then?” he inquired suspiciously.

“I—­I might find him,” stammered the military man.

“I do not think I would,” said Bart.  “Bring him here personally, and I will hand it over to him—­in your presence, if he says so.”

The colonel groaned again.  It was plainly to be seen that he was in an intense inward frenzy.

“Stirling, you’ve got to give me that package!” he cried, springing to his feet and lifting his cane threateningly.

“Have I?” said Bart, facing him watchingly.

“Be careful, Colonel Harrington! you are pretty near committing a criminal offense.”

“You’re in the plot—­you know all about it!  Give up that package, or—­or—­”

“Colonel Harrington,” said Bart calmly, but every word ringing out as clear as the tone of a bell, “I am no ruffian, and I hate violence, but if you lift that cane to me again—­I’ll shoot.”

Bart showed the gleaming top of the weapon in his pocket, backing to the door.

Just then the door behind him was forcibly thrust open, its edge hitting him violently.  Then someone pounced upon him.

The attack was sudden and effective.  A piece of rope was looped deftly about Bart’s arms, holding him helpless, secured behind, and as he was pushed roughly against the desk.  Lem Wacker’s evil face leered down upon him.

“Don’t you holler!” ordered Lem.

As he spoke, he leaned over the railing.  The waste box held a mass of cotton that had packed some of the parcels disposed of at the sale that afternoon.  Lem grabbed up a handful, and forcibly stuffed it into Bart’s mouth.

“Wacker!  Wacker!” gasped Colonel Harrington in affright, “don’t—­don’t hurt him.  This is dreadful—­”

“Shut up!” ordered Lem Wacker recklessly, “you want something and don’t know how to get it.  I do—­and will.”

He snatched at Bart’s tightly-buttoned coat and tore it loose, groped inside and drew out a package.