WHO ROBBED THE SAFE?
WHILE Myles Manning was struggling with one of the great trials of
his life in New York, events were taking place at Mountain Junction
in which he would have been greatly interested had he known of them.
In the first place, Ben Watkins’ uncle, the division superintendent,
had returned, and, with the powerful aid of the 50th Regiment, N. G.
S. N. Y., was proceeding vigorously against the railroad strikers in
that part of the country. Several leaders were arrested and locked up
to await trial, but Jacob Allen, who was supposed to be chief among
them, was not to be found, though every effort was made to discover
his hiding-place and a large reward was offered for his apprehension.
He had not been seen in town since the morning of his rescue from the
jail, and, though his little house was closely watched, it could not
be discovered that he had any communication with his family. Still,
the efforts for his capture were not relaxed, for the fall term of
court would open at Mountain Junction on the following Monday, and it
was deemed important that Allen’s case, together with those of his
associates, should then be tried.
The second event of interest to Myles was the return to town of Ben
Watkins himself, and the consequences that followed immediately upon
it. He had been released by the strikers who captured him, together
with Lieutenant Easter and his command, in a town about forty miles
away, and left at liberty to work his way back as best he could. This
he succeeded in doing, and he reached Mountain Junction about the same
time as his uncle.
Ben became greatly excited when he learned of his uncle’s return and
of Myles Manning’s departure. He inquired at the hotel office if the
latter had left any letter or package for him, and on being told that
he had not the young man broke forth into a torrent of abuse, not
only against Myles, but against all reporters, whom he denounced as
a prying, sneaking set of fellows, unfit to be admitted into decent
society.
All this was heard by several persons, including Billings, who,
concealed behind his immense shirt-collar, was sitting in the hotel
office. He listened quietly for a few minutes, but when Ben began to
include all reporters in his abuse the little man could no longer stand
it. He jumped up and, stepping squarely in front of the bully, declared
that he was a reporter, and demanded that the other make an instant
apology for his words, or prepare to suffer the consequences.
“And who will make me suffer, I should like to know?” cried Ben, gazing
with contempt upon the absurd figure cut by this champion of reporters.
“Perhaps I will,” answered Billings, affecting his languid drawl, “or
perhaps I will leave it to my friend, ‘Lord Steerem,’ don’t you know.”
“You impudent puppy!” screamed Ben in a fury, now recognizing Billings
as the reporter who had made him the laughing-stock of all New London.
“If you weren’t so small as to be beneath contempt I’d thrash you to
within an inch of your life. Now clear out of here before I hurt you,
and don’t you ever dare come in my way again.”
“I’m a little threshing-machine myself,” answered Billings, coolly,
“and I am geared up to just about your size, Mr. Bigman, So come on if
you dare. I don’t care that”—snapping his fingers in Ben’s face—“for
you or your bluster.”
Ben aimed a blow at him, which the reporter cleverly dodged. Before
there was a chance for another, the by-standers, who were vastly
entertained by Billings’ exhibition of pluck, rushed in and separated
the two, declaring that Ben ought to be ashamed of himself to strike at
a fellow not half his size.
Ben sulkily left the hotel, vowing vengeance against both Billings and
Myles, while the little man, who was prevented from following him,
entertained his captors with the story of “Lord Steerem,” the famous
coxswain.
The division superintendent was a harsh man, who entertained no
affection for his nephew, and had only given him his position because
he was his brother’s son. He suspected Ben’s unfitness for the place,
and had been on the point of discharging him several times. Now, when
Ben entered the office, he found his uncle greatly dissatisfied with
his conduct of affairs during the preceding four days.
“If it had not been for your overbearing manner and absurd display of
authority,” he said to Ben, “there would have been no serious outbreak
here, nor any destruction of the company’s property. Now I’ll trouble
you for the key to the safe.”
With all his known faults Ben had never been suspected of dishonesty by
his uncle, who was obliged to trust his assistant implicitly in many
things.
Ben hesitated a moment and then said that he had left the key in his
room for greater safety, and would be obliged to go there for it.
“A pretty place your room is to leave a thing of such value!” growled
the superintendent. “You should not have let it go out of your
possession for an instant.”
“I was afraid I might be robbed by the strikers,” answered Ben.
“Nonsense! The strikers are not the sort of fellows to rob individuals.
You ought to know that as well as I. Now hurry up and get the key. I
must have the books out of the safe at once.”
Ben left the office and in a few minutes returned. With a well assumed
air of agitation he said that the key was nowhere to be found, and
that it must have been stolen from his room during his absence from
town.
“Whom do you suspect of stealing it?” demanded his uncle.
“I don’t suspect anybody unless it is some of the strikers.”
“The strikers again! Always the strikers,” sneered the other. “Well,
sir, we will soon find out. If the key was stolen it was done for the
purpose of robbing the safe. I shall have the lock picked, and if any
thing is missing I will believe that the key was taken from your room
as you say. If every thing is all right in the safe I shall be forced
to believe that you have lost the key, and have trumped up this story
to conceal your carelessness. In that case the position of assistant
superintendent of this division will instantly become vacant, for I
shall have no further use for you.”
An hour later the lock was picked and the safe opened. The
superintendent carefully examined its contents, taking from it every
book and bundle of papers.
“Well, sir,” he said, turning to Ben after satisfying himself that
every thing was as he left it, “what have you to say now?”
“I don’t see any money package,” answered Ben, stooping and peering
into the empty safe.
“Money package! What money package?”
“One containing a thousand dollars that came by express from the
treasurer the day you went away. I receipted for it in your name and
locked it up in the safe, but it doesn’t seem to be there now.”
“No, I should say it wasn’t!” exclaimed the superintendent, rather
staggered by this proof that his nephew’s story of being robbed was
true, and, searching his face keenly, “You are sure there is no mistake
about that package?”
“Certainly not, sir. You will find a copy of the receipt I gave for it
in the blotter and the sum entered in the cash-book.”
Examination proved both of these statements to be true.
“Did you say that the money came from the treasurer’s office?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then one or more of the bills it contained must have been marked, for
that is a precaution I never knew the treasurer to neglect.”
A dispatch sent to the general office of the company, informing the
treasurer of the robbery and asking if any of the bills in that package
could be identified, set his clerks to examining a certain little
memorandum-book.
In a very short time a reply reached Mountain Junction. Yes, in package
number so and so, containing one thousand dollars, sent to the division
superintendent on such a date, one fifty-dollar bill was privately
marked in the manner usual with the treasurer.
On the following day the division superintendent spent several hours in
the only bank of Mountain Junction, where he and the cashier closely
examined every fifty-dollar bill among its deposits, but none bearing
the private mark of the treasurer of the railroad company was to be
found. Just as they had satisfied themselves of this the proprietor of
the principal hotel came in to make his weekly deposit of funds, which
he always did on Saturday.
After he had gone the cashier returned to the private office in which
the superintendent still sat.
“Here are two more fifties that have just come in,” he said. “Perhaps
you had better look at them.”
The first one was not marked, but the second! Yes, it bore the fatal
sign, a tiny red cross made in a spot where it would never be detected
unless a person knew just where to look for it.
“Then you’ve struck the trail at last?” said the cashier.
“Yes, and I’ll follow it up close while it is fresh,” answered the
superintendent. “What a bit of luck it is that this very bill should be
passed right here in town. Why, we’ll have the thief locked up inside
of three days.”
Then the superintendent went to the hotel, and taking the proprietor to
one side, asked him if he could recollect taking in any fifty-dollar
bills during the past week.
“Yes, I took in two of them, and have just now deposited them along
with some other money in the bank,” was the answer.
“Can you remember who gave them to you?”
“Oh, yes; one came from a drummer who left on Monday, the day before
the strike broke out, and the other came from a New York reporter, who
only went away yesterday.”
“Was there any unusual circumstance attending the receipt of either of
these bills?”
“No—why, yes, there was too! The reporter was an impudent young dog,
and didn’t have any money when I first asked him to pay his bill. He
was going out of town and I made him leave his watch as security.
The next morning he redeemed it and paid his bill with one of those
fifties.”
“Do you remember his name?”
“No; but it is on the register. Here it is. Manning; Myles Manning, New
York City. I think he was a friend of your nephew. Anyhow, they had
drinks together the night he came.”
“Will you kindly send a messenger to my office with word that I should
like to see my nephew here for a minute?”
“Certainly.”
When Ben came he found his uncle sitting with the landlord in the
latter’s room.
“Do you know a New York reporter named Manning?” was the first question
put to him.
“To be sure I do. He was in my class at X——, and was out here this
week doing the strike for the _Phonograph_.”
“What sort of a character does he bear?”
“Why, pretty fair, I believe; but of course I wouldn’t like to say any
thing against an old classmate.”
“In the present case if you know any thing about the young man it is
your duty to tell it. He is suspected of taking that thousand dollars.”
Ben gave a well-acted start of surprise.
“Oh, that can’t be,” he said. “Myles Manning would never do such a
thing as that. He may be a little wild, but he couldn’t be a thief.”
“What do you mean by a little wild?”
“Oh, takes an occasional drink and plays a game now and then.”
“Did you and he drink together the night he came here?”
“I believe we did have one or two glasses.”
“Did he get drunk?”
“No, not exactly what you might call drunk.”
“Did you play cards?”
“Yes, we had a game or two.”
“For money?”
“Yes.”
“Did Manning win?”
“Well, no, not exactly.”
“Did he lose?”
“I believe he did.”
“How much?”
“Pretty near all he had, I guess. At least he complained of being
cleaned out.”
“Did he complain of this to you?”
“Yes, and tried to borrow money of me to pay his hotel bill.”
“And you refused to lend it?”
“Yes. I told him I was short myself.”
“What did he say to that?”
“Oh, he got mad and said he was bound to have his money back some way.”
“Did you win his money?”
“No, sir.”
“Who did?”
“I think Lieutenant Easter must have won it, for he was the only one
playing with us.”
“While Manning was in your room did he know that the key of my safe was
in your possession?”
“I think he did.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Because it fell from my pocket when I drew out my handkerchief while
we were playing cards, and I said then that I guessed it was not safe
there, and that I should hide it in my room.”
“Did he see where you put it?”
“I don’t know, but he might have, for I had no thought of concealing it
from him.”
“Have you had any other cause to be suspicions of him?”
“Not in connection with the money.”
“In connection with any thing else, then?”
“Well, he did seem to be pretty thick with the strikers.”
“In what way?”
“In telling them of our plans. Both Lieutenant Easter and I thought he
told them of our plan to send a train through, and so gave them the
chance to capture it and us. Manning was with us, and when they asked
him what he was doing there, he produced a note from Jake Allen, which
said he was their friend and must be treated as such.”
“How did they treat him?”
“I don’t know; but he was the only one left behind when they carried us
off, and that looked very suspicious to me.”
“Well,” said the superintendent, “from all accounts this Manning is a
fellow who will bear pretty close watching. I won’t say yet that he
robbed my safe, but I must confess things begin to look that way. I
wish you would show me your room, Ben, and the one Manning occupied
while he was here.”
So the superintendent, his nephew, and the landlord went up to No. 16,
where Ben showed the corner of a bureau drawer in which he said the key
had been hidden. Then they went to the room that had been Myles’, only
three doors away. In answer to their knock Billings’ voice shouted:
“Come in!” He now occupied it, and was sitting up by the window writing.
“Excuse the intrusion,” said the landlord, “but these gentlemen have a
particular reason for wishing to see this room, and I thought perhaps
you would not mind.”
“Oh, not at all,” answered Billings, scowling at Ben. “I will leave and
let them have it all to themselves if they say so.”
They did not say so, and he did not leave, but sat watching them
closely and wondering what they were up to.
Ben in particular seemed anxious to examine every article of furniture
in the room very closely. He looked behind the bureau and peered under
the wash-stand.
“What do you expect to find?” asked his uncle.
“I don’t expect to find any thing, but I thought it just possible that
he might have hidden the envelope somewhere in this room if he took it.
Of course he didn’t, though. He wouldn’t do such a thing. Hello! what’s
this?”
As Ben uttered this exclamation he was gazing intently at the floor
close to one wall of the room and near the door.
“What’s what? I don’t see any thing,” said his uncle, looking at the
floor.
“Neither do I,” replied Ben, “but I just trod on something that felt
like paper under the carpet.”
“Of course,” broke in the landlord, “we always put paper under our
carpets.”
“But this has a peculiar feeling, like an extra thickness of paper.”
“Why don’t you look under the carpet, then, and see what it is?” asked
the superintendent.
“I would rather not, uncle. He is my friend, you know.”
“Nonsense! I hope he isn’t your friend if what we suspect of him is
true. But step out of the way and let me see what wonderful discovery
you have made. It is probably only a crease in the floor paper.”
So saying the superintendent stooped, inserted his hand beneath the
edge of the carpet and drew forth the identical express envelope that
the package of missing bills had come in.
The three looked at each other without a word, while Billings pretended
to have resumed his writing.
When they were again in the landlord’s room the superintendent said:
“Proof is accumulating so fast against this Manning that I shall
procure a warrant, send it on to our New York detective, and have him
arrested.”
“Oh, uncle, don’t do it?” exclaimed Ben. “Remember that he is a
gentleman, and that a thing of this kind would ruin him.”
“Your kind heart does you credit, Ben, but in a case of this sort
mercy must give way to justice. Yes, it is clearly my duty to have him
arrested. At the same time I shall write out a full account of the
affair and send it to the president of the road, so that he will get it
the first thing Monday morning. He can then decide what is to be done.”
The superintendent did as he proposed, and his letter was the first one
President Walker Saxon, of the A. & B. Road, saw lying on his desk as
he entered his office Monday morning. He had intended stopping at the
office of the _Phonograph_, in which he was a stockholder, and speaking
to the city editor about Myles Manning, but as it was early he changed
his mind and decided that he would first go to his own office and
glance over the mail.
At the same time a dispatch directed to Myles lay uncalled for in the
city room of the _Phonograph_. It came from Billings, and was:
“Look sharp, old man. Suspect B. W. is making trouble for you here.
Do not know yet what it is, but will post you as soon as I get on the
inside track. Pretty sure I shall have to thrash him yet.”