smuggling

rings have been discovered in operation along the Mexican and Canadian borders in the past, and only a few months ago a cargo of Chinese coolies was smuggled into New York harbor.

“The reason for wanting them, of course, is that they provide cheap labor, the cheapest, in fact. There are men and syndicates in California, operating ranches, fruit and truck farms, who will pay well to have a batch of coolie laborers delivered to them, and no questions asked. Consequently, smuggling rings come into being for the purpose of supplying this illicit demand.”

“Well, what shall we do about this information, Uncle George?” said Frank. “Don’t you think we ought to tell the authorities?”

“I certainly do,” said Mr. Temple. “When we reach San Francisco, I shall lay this matter before the Secret Service the first thing tomorrow, and you will have to go along to tell them what you overheard.”

“Meanwhile,” commented Jack, “these two fellows would escape.”

“Well, we can’t help that,” decided Mr. Temple. “We are not officers of the law, and can’t arrest them. As for shadowing them, to see where they go on reaching San Francisco, for I suppose that’s their destination, that is out of the question, too.

In the first place, they already have a suspicion that Frank overheard them, and accordingly they would be on watch. In the second place, we all will be ready for a good night’s rest when we arrive. Anyhow, I imagine that from what Frank overheard the revenue officers will get a good enough clue to enable them to run down this gang.”

“You mean,” questioned Frank, “that knowing this man Handby is a spy, they can watch him and learn who are his confederates?”

“Something like that,” said Mr. Temple.

After that the conversation became desultory. Mr. Temple lay outstretched on the couch with cigar and newspaper. The boys wandered out again into the club car, and beyond to the observation platform. It was growing late, and they were nearing Oakland. The transcontinental railroad lines end at that city on San Francisco Bay, and the trip to the metropolis is completed by ferry—a short run of twenty minutes.

“I can sniff the salt water,” said Jack. “Smell it. We must be getting close to the Bay.”

All three chums grew exhilarated at the prospect of soon reaching the world-famous city, which is the Gateway to the Pacific and is unlike any other city in America, with the Latin-like gayety of its populace, its 30,000 Chinamen forming a city of their

own within the larger city, and its waterfront crowded with traffic of the Orient—spicy and mysterious.

“I don’t see those fellows,” whispered Frank to his chums, surveying the figures in the club car behind them. “Maybe they left the train.”

But at that very moment, the coolie smuggler who had suspected Frank of overhearing him was tipping the porter to learn to what hotel the boys and Mr. Temple had ordered their baggage sent.

CHAPTER III—THE MAN OF MYSTERY AGAIN

“Well, boys,” said Mr. Temple at breakfast next morning. “I’m going to be busy today talking business with my Pacific Coast representatives. First of all, however, Frank and I shall have to go and lay before the government people this information as to what he overheard. I suppose, Bob, that you and Jack want to go along.”

“Righto, Father,” said Bob.

They sat at table in the Palace Hotel on Market Street in San Francisco. This is one of the most famous hostelries in the world. Lotta’s Fountain is on Market Street outside. Nearby is the intersection of Market, Geary and Kearney Streets—the busiest spot in all the great city. The offices of the big newspapers are adjacent. The hotel itself has housed famous men and women from all parts of the world, has been the scene of great municipal balls and other festivities, and in addition is the Mecca for which head all the prospectors of the gold country

and the Yukon when they strike it rich, as they say.

Mr. Temple’s business in the city was to consult with the western representative of the big exporting and importing firm of which he was the head. Frank’s father had been his partner, and on his death had made Mr. Temple his son’s guardian and administrator of his estate.

“We’ll stay a week, if all goes well,” said Mr. Temple. “Of course, if my business engagements take up too much of my time we might stay a day or two longer, as there are some points of interest I intend to visit while here. I’ve been in San Francisco before, but, for one thing, I’ve never gone to the top of Mt. Tamalpais, across the Bay in the Marin County peninsula. I want to make that trip. I suppose,” he added, with a smile, “you won’t object if I am forced to stay more than a week.”

“Oh, yes,” said Jack laughing, “we’ll be awfully put out. We don’t want to see a thing.”

Suddenly Frank pushed back his chair and with an incoherent cry started to dart away. Bob seized him by the coat. Frank writhed in his grasp and attempted to twist free. He was highly excited.

“Hold on,” said Bob. “What’s the matter?”

Then Frank managed to obtain sufficent control of his voice to explain.

“Let me go,” he demanded. “I saw that man who was on the train—the fellow who was explaining the smuggling plot.”

“Where, where?” demanded Bob, also gaining his feet.

“He was breakfasting over there,” said Frank, pointing to a table near the exit. “I caught just a glimpse of him. I think he was watching us. Come on.”

Turning, he darted off with Bob at his heels.

“Don’t leave the hotel,” called Mr. Temple, sharply. “People are watching us.”

“Excuse me,” said Jack, who had stood undecided whether to follow his chums. “I’ll be right back.”

And he, too, walked rapidly away.

With a sigh, Mr. Temple picked up his morning paper. But he was unable to concentrate on his reading. His eyes wandered anxiously toward the door despite himself. In a few minutes, however, his anxiety was relieved. He saw the forms of the three boys appear. From their expressions, he gathered that they had been unsuccessful.

“No use,” said Frank. “He had disappeared.”

“There are three doorways to as many streets,” explained Jack, sinking into his chair. “Each of us went a different way, but we couldn’t see him.”

“Maybe he’s a guest here,” said Bob, “and went to his room.”

“Good idea,” said Frank. “Why didn’t I think of that before? I’ll just go and describe him to the room clerk and see if he’s here, and maybe I can learn his name.”

He would have gone at once, but Mr. Temple restrained him.

“Finish your breakfast first, Frank,” said he. “You have barely touched your eggs and bacon. If the man is a guest here, you can get the information just as well a half hour from now.”

The boys finished breakfast in record time. Mr. Temple sighed.

“You fellows are in such a hurry,” said he. “If you are going to lead me the wild chase here that you did in New Mexico I’ll wish I had never brought you. Here I go and plan a little sightseeing trip, and the first thing you do before ever arriving at San Francisco is to become involved in a plot. It won’t do, you know.”

Nevertheless, he got to his feet, signed the breakfast check and followed the boys toward the clerk’s desk.

“No,” said the latter, after Frank had described minutely the mysterious stranger. “I am quite sure I was not on duty last night when the Flyer came

in, but I was talking to the night clerk when the arrivals