THE MATTER OF POSSESSION
The M. & T. terminal station at Manchester was in reality two buildings.
From the street, it looked like an ordinary three-story office building,
except that there were no stores on the street level. Instead, the first
floor was taken up by two large waiting rooms, the ticket office, and
a baggage room. Entering through the big doorway in the centre, you
ascended a few steps, passed through the waiting room, then up some more
steps and across a covered iron bridge which spanned a narrow alley.
This bridge connected the station proper with the train shed.
The offices of the company occupied the two upper floors. The same
stairway that led to the bridge doubled on itself and zigzagged up the
rest of the way. As you reached the second floor, the office of the
Superintendent was before you, across the hall. To your right were large
rooms occupied by various branches of the clerical force, while to
your left the first door bore the word “Treasurer,” and the second was
lettered “President.” The Treasurer's office was a large room, cut
off at the rear by a vault which contained the more valuable of the
company's books and papers: the main vault was downstairs. A narrow
passage between the vault and the partition led to a small window which
overlooked the train shed and the alley. On one side of this passage was
the vault entrance, on the other was a door which had been cut through
the partition into the President's private office.
Early on Monday morning, after a brief survey of the various officers
and a few words with the Superintendent, Harvey assumed the direction
of the road and established himself in the President's room, while a
big deputy sat at the desk in the outer office. The night before, at the
Illinois House, Jim and Harvey had talked until late, discussing every
detail of the situation. Jim had gone over the fight of Saturday,
winding up with a few words of advice.
“We'll have trouble,” he said. “Porter isn't going to let things slip
away any easier than he has to. The safe plan is to suspect everything
and everybody. Keep everything in sight. I'll be here to help, but from
now on you represent the road.”
Harvey arranged the desk to suit him, then he opened the small door
behind him and crossed the passage. The vault door was open, but a steel
gate barred the way. A key hung by the window, and as Harvey unlocked
the gate and swung it open, a bell rang. He examined the shelves, and
noted that the books were in place. He knew that the possession of those
books meant practically the possession of the road.
Reentering his office he found the deputy standing in the other doorway.
“Gentleman to see you, Mr. West,” said the deputy. “Won't give his name.
Says it's important.”
“Show him in,” Harvey replied.
The deputy stepped back and made way for a quiet-looking man who was
even larger than himself. The newcomer closed the door behind him.
“Mr. West,” he said, “Mr. Weeks ordered me to report to you. I'm
Mallory, from the Pinkerton agency. I have three men outside. Have you
any instructions?”
Harvey checked a smile. It reminded him of the stories of his boyhood.
But in a moment it dawned upon him that if Jim thought the situation so
serious, he must be very careful.
“Yes,” he answered slowly. “Put one man near the vault--here”--he opened
the small door--“let no one go into the vault without my permission.
Then you might put one man in the hall--somewhere out of sight--and one
outside the building. You understand that there may be an attempt to get
possession of the books. Do you know any of the C. & S.C. men--William
C. Porter, or Frederick McNally?”
The detective shook his head.
“Well, then, just keep things right under your eye, and report every
hour or so.”
The detective nodded and left the room. A little later Harvey opened the
side door, and saw a man lounging in the passage, looking idly out the
window.
Shortly after ten Jim came in to talk things over. He told Harvey that
the C. & S.C. people had a counter move under way, but he was unable to
discover its nature. He had seen McNally in company with a number of
men who did not often leave Chicago. “He'll be up here, yet,” Jim added
prophetically; and he went out without leaving word. “Don't know how
long I'll be gone,” was all he would say; “but you'll see me off and
on.”
Ten minutes after Jim's departure McNally appeared. Harvey heard his
voice in the outer office, then the deputy came to Harvey's desk.
“Mr. Frederick McNally,” said the official. “He asked for the
Superintendent first, and I sent him in to Mr. Mattison, but he sent him
back to you. Will you see him?”
“Yes,” replied Harvey. “And you may stay in the room.”
The deputy held open the door, while McNally entered.
“How are you, West?” he said brusquely. “There seems to be some
confusion here. The Superintendent disclaims all authority, and refers
me to you.”
“Sit down,” said Harvey, waiting for McNally to continue. Evidently
McNally preferred to stand.
“I wish to see some one in authority, Mr. West.”
“You may talk with me.”
“You--are you in authority?”
Harvey bowed, and fingered a paper-weight.
“I don't understand this, West.” He glanced at the deputy. “I wish to
see you alone.”
For a moment Harvey looked doubtful, then he smiled slightly, and nodded
at the deputy, saying,--
“Very well.”
“Will you tell me what this means?” asked McNally, when the door had
closed.
Harvey looked gravely at him and said nothing.
“Well?” McNally's coolness was leaving him. “Are you in control of this
road, or aren't you?”
“I am.”
“In that case”--he produced a paper--“it becomes my duty to relieve
you.”
Harvey looked at the paper; it was an order from Judge Black appointing
McNally receiver for M. & T. Harvey handed it back, saying, coolly,--
“Sit down, Mr. McNally.”
“I have no time to waste, West. You will please turn over the books.”
“They are in the vault,” said Harvey, pointing to the side door.
McNally looked sharply at Harvey, but the young man had turned to a
pile of letters. After a moment's hesitation McNally opened the door and
pulled at the steel gate. As he was peering through the bars, a heavy
hand fell on his shoulder.
“Here!” said a low voice. “You'll have to keep away from that vault.”
“Take your hand away!” McNally ordered.
“Come, now! Move on!”
“Mr. West, under whose orders is this man acting?”
“His superior officer's, I suppose,” Harvey called through the door
without rising.
“Call him at once, sir.”
The detective beckoned to a boy, and sent him out of the room. In a
moment his chief appeared.
“This man sent for you, Mr. Mallory,” said the detective.
“What is it?” asked Mallory.
McNally blustered.
“I want to know what this means. Do you understand that I am the
receiver of this road?”
“Oh, no, you aren't.” Mallory stepped to the door. “Is this true, Mr.
West?”
“No,” said Harvey, “it isn't.”
“You'll have to leave, then, my friend.”
“Don't you touch me!” McNally's face was growing red. For reply each
detective seized an arm, and the protesting receiver was hustled
unceremoniously out of the room.
An hour later McNally returned. He greeted the deputy with a suave
smile, and requested an interview with Mr. West.
“I'm not sure about that,” said the deputy.
“That is too bad,” smiled McNally. “Kindly speak to Mr. West.”
With a disapproving glance the deputy opened the door. Harvey came
forward.
“Well,” he said brusquely, “what can I do for you?”
McNally stepped through the door and seated himself.
“I've been thinking this matter over, Mr. West, and I believe that we
can come to an understanding. If your claims are correct, the road has
two receivers. You are nominally in possession, but, nevertheless, you
are liable for contempt of court for refusing to honor my authority.
Whichever way the case is settled, I am in a position to inconvenience
you for resisting me.”
He waited for a reply, but Harvey waited, too.
“In the interest of the road, Mr. West, it would be very much better
for you to recognize me, even to the extent of having two receivers. It
could not affect the outcome of the case, and it might avoid trouble.”
“I can't agree with you,” Harvey replied. “I shall retain control of the
road until the case is settled.”
McNally rose.
“Then, I warn you, you will have a big undertaking on your hands.”
“I suppose so.”
“Very well; good morning.”
“Good morning, Mr. McNally.”
At noon Harvey went out to lunch. He met Jim at the hotel, and told him
what had happened. Jim smiled at Harvey's seriousness.
“The fight hasn't begun yet,” he said. “When you've been through as many
deals as I have”--he stopped and drew out his watch.
“It's one-thirty. You'd better get back. I'll go with you and look over
the field.”
As they walked through the waiting room Harvey fancied that he heard a
noise from above. However, the noon express, out in the train shed, was
blowing off steam with a roar, and he could not be positive. But Jim
quickened his pace, and ran up the steps with surprising agility.
As they neared the second floor the noise grew. There was scuffling and
loud talking, culminating in an uproar of profanity and blows. The first
man they saw was McNally. He stood near the stairway, hat on the back of
his head, face red but composed. Before him was a strange scene. Mallory
and the big deputy stood with their backs to the Treasurer's door,
tussling with three burly ruffians. Beyond the deputy, one of the
detectives was standing off two men with well-placed blows. The two
other detectives were rolling about the floor, each with a man firmly
in his grasp. There was a great noise of feet, as the different groups
swayed and struggled. In the excitement none of them saw Jim and Harvey,
who stood for a moment on the top step.
A stiff blow caught the deputy's chin, and he staggered. With a quick
motion Mallory whipped out a pair of handcuffs. There was a flash of
steel as he drew back his arm, then the maddened rough went down in
a heap, a stream of blood flowing from his head. One of the others,
a red-haired man, gripped the handcuffs and fought for them. It all
happened in an instant, and as Harvey stood half-dazed, he heard a
breathless exclamation, and Jim had sprung forward.
Some persons might have thought Jim Weeks fat. He weighed two hundred
and forty pounds, but he was tall and wide in the shoulder. On ordinary
occasions his face was so composed as to appear almost cold-blooded, but
now it was fairly livid. Harvey drew in his breath with surprise; he had
seen Jim angry, but never like this. In three strides Jim was behind the
red-haired man. He threw an arm around the man's neck, jerking his chin
up with such force that his body bent backward, and relinquishing his
hold on the handcuffs he clutched, gasping, at Jim's arm. But the
arm gripped like iron. While Mallory was pulling himself together and
turning to aid the deputy, Jim walked backward, dragging the struggling
man to the head of the stairs. On the top step he paused to grip the
man's trousers with his other hand, then he literally threw the fellow
downstairs. Bruised and battered, he lay for a moment on the landing,
then he struggled to his feet and moved his arm toward his hip pocket,
but Jim was ready. The breathless President started down the stairs with
a rush. For an instant the man wavered, then he broke and fled into the
train shed.
On his return Jim had to step aside to avoid another ruffian, who was
walking down with profane mutterings. This time Harvey had a hand in the
fighting, and he leaned over the railing to answer the man's oaths
with a threat of the law. Jim and Harvey stood aside while the four
detectives and the deputy led the remainder of the gang downstairs to
await the police.
From the various offices frightened faces were peering through
half-open doors. A few stripling clerks appeared with belated offers
of assistance, but Jim waved them back. Already Jim was cooling off. He
could not afford to retain such a passion, and he mopped his face and
neck for a few moments without speaking. His breath was gone, but he
began to recover it.
“Hello,” he said, at length, “where's McNally?”
Harvey started, then ran down the hall, glancing hastily into the
different offices. When he returned, Jim had vanished. While he stood
irresolute, two stalwart brakemen appeared from the train shed and stood
on the landing. One of them called up,--
“Can we help you, sir?”
“Wait a minute,” said Harvey.
A door opened down the hall. Harvey looked toward the sound, and saw Jim
backing out of the wash-room, followed by McNally, whose arm was held
firmly in Jim's grasp. They came toward Harvey in silence.
“He was hiding, West,” said Jim, a savage eagerness in his voice. “He
hadn't the nerve to stick it out. Corker, isn't he?”
McNally stood for a moment looking doggedly out through the window over
the roof of the shed.
“You've got yourself into a mess, Weeks,” he said, speaking slowly in an
effort to bring himself under control. “This'll land you in Joliet.”
For reply Jim looked him over contemptuously, and tightened his grasp
until the other winced. Then he suddenly loosened his hold, stepped
back, and calling, “Catch him, boys!” kicked McNally with a mighty
swing.
Harvey laughed hysterically as the flying figure sailed down the
stairway, then he heard Jim say to the brakemen,--
“Take him to Mallory, and tell him to put him with the others.”
“Well,” said Harvey, nervously, “I guess that's settled.”
“No,” said Jim, “it's only just begun. He'll be on deck again before
night.” The next sentence was lost in the mopping handkerchief, but
as he turned into the office, he added, “We'll have to lose the books
to-night, West.”