THE REVELATIONS OF A SATCHEL.
"Hello, old man!"
"Eh?"
The man stopped, stared at Harry Bernard as if puzzled, and then began
to grin.
"I want to speak with you, sir."
"Sortin, sortin you can."
"Who are you?"
"Sam Wiggs o' Yonkers. Wat can I do for ye, mister?"
The old fellow seemed honest enough, and as Harry glanced at the dirty
hands, he saw nothing to excite his suspicions.
"Are you a relative of Mr.---?" naming the farmer who owned the place
on which they stood.
"Wal, not as I knows on," drawled the old fellow, laughing until his
old head seemed ready to topple from his shoulders. "No blood
relation, any how, sir. You see, my wife's cousin's aunt's husband's
brother Jerry was a cousin to Nicodemus Dunce, who, if I don't
disremember, was related in some way to Isacker Pete's wife's sister,
and she was this ere man's niece, or somethin' o' that sort, but we
ain't blood related nohow."
"I should think not," answered Harry, and then he returned to the
house, while the old man Wiggs proceeded unmolested on his way.
"At a first glance, he DID resemble the man of the emigrant train
strongly," muttered Bernard, "but I see now that I was mistaken."
"Well, how did you make out, Harry?"
"This was from Dyke Darrel, who had been watching proceedings from the
window.
"A case of mistaken identity," answered the young man, with a laugh.
"I was sure I had found the right man when I saw that old chap
crossing the yard, but it seems that I was mistaken."
"Are you sure of it?"
"I suppose I am."
Dyke Darrel watched the retreating form of the old man with no little
curiosity, however, until his bent form was lost to view down the
winding road. Naturally suspicious, the detective more than half
believed that the seemingly aged man had not come to the farm-house
for any good purpose.
"I can't help thinking that Wiggs, as he called himself, is destined
to give us trouble, Harry," the detective said, at length.
"An inoffensive old man," asserted Bernard. At the same time, however,
he was not fully content to let the matter rest as it was.
"It might be well enough to watch the old fellow, at any rate," said
Dyke Barrel, rising and walking twice across the room, peering
nervously out of the window in the direction in which old Wiggs had
gone.
"Keep quiet, Dyke," said Bernard. "I will shadow the old fellow, and
see if he is other than he seems."
Bernard was on the point of leaving the room, when a youth appeared,
walking swiftly toward the farm-house from the direction of the
station. One glance sufficed to show both men the genial face of the
boy Paul Ender.
"So you have Paul with you, Harry?" said the detective with a pleased
smile.
"He is my shadow, and I have found him true and brave," answered
Harry, at the same time glancing toward Nell, who had told him of the
lad's defense of her against the villain Elliston.
"I can testify to his bravery," said the girl. "Paul and I are great
friends."
A minute later, young Ender entered the presence of the trio, and
deposited a black satchel in the middle of the floor.
"I have committed a theft," said the boy, with a queer look on his
face, "and am here to throw myself on the mercy of the court."
"You speak in riddles," said Bernard. "I've been on a bully lay, as
the peelers say, and I believe have made a discovery, although it may
amount to nothing after all."
"Go on."
"I've seen the man with the red hair and beard."
"When?"
"Where?"
"Over by the depot. I saw him go into an old out-house with this
satchel in his hand."
"Indeed!"
"Go on."
"I was on the watch, and when he came out I saw, not Brother Ruggles,
but a lean old man, with white locks and beard, who seemed to walk
with great difficulty."
"Ah!"
"Indeed!"
"He hobbled away, and failed to take the satchel with him. At first I
could not believe that the sorrel gent and the old chap were the same.
I learned this by investigation. When, after waiting a spell, and no
sunset-haired gent came forth, I proceeded to investigate, and found
this satchel, which, under the law of military necessity, I proceeded
to confiscate, that the ends of justice might be furthered. If I have
done wrong, I am ready to throw myself on the mercy of the court, and
be forgiven."
"You have done right," cried Dyke Barrel. "Have you opened the
satchel?"
"No. It is locked, and I haven't a key that will fit."
Harry Bernard produced several keys, none of which fitted the lock to
the satchel.
"What are we to do?" cried Bernard. "The satchel is securely locked,
and its owner has the key."
"This is no time for ceremony or undue squeamishness!" uttered Dyke
Darrel. "We are on the eve of an important discovery, and I propose to
make no delays."
Then, drawing a knife from his pocket, the detective bent over the
satchel and slit the sides at one stroke.
"That will open it if a key won't," he remarked, with grim
satisfaction.
The contents of the satchel were a revelation.
Red wigs and a complete suit of clothes, besides paints and powders.
Harry uttered an exclamation.
"Just as I suspected," uttered Dyke Darrel. "You made no, mistake when
you suspected that old man who just now left this vicinity. Doubtless
he forgot his satchel, or else thought it safe until his return. Paul,
my boy, you have done a good thing, and shall be promoted. We must now
make it a point to intercept old Wiggs."
"Doubtless he has gone to the depot."
"How far is that from here?"
"Two miles."
"When does the train pass?" questioned Dyke Darrel.
"I cannot say."
"Nor I."
"Ask the farmer's wife."
Paul sped from the room.
"The New York express goes in ten minutes," said the boy, on his
return.
"In ten minutes? Then we have no time to lose," cried Dyke, turning to
the door.
"Dyke, what would you do?" demanded Nell at this moment.
"Capture your enemy and mine---"
"But you are not strong enough to take the trail. Stay with me."
He interrupted her with:
"Nell, I never felt stronger in my life. I mean to put the bracelets
on the villain's wrists with my own hands."
"Dyke, leave it to me," urged Harry Bernard.
But the detective's blood was up, and he would listen to no one. He
was determined to be in at the death, and for the time his old
strength seemed coursing in his veins. He hastened from the house, and
ascertaining that a horse was in the barn, he at once sprang to the
animal's back.
"You are unarmed?" said Bernard. "Yes, but--"
"Take this; I will quickly follow," and the young man thrust a
revolver into the hand of Dyke Darrel. "Do nothing rash until help
arrives, Dyke. Our game is desperate, and will fight hard if
cornered."
"I am aware of that, but I do not fear him. Ha! what is that?"
"The roar of the train."
"Then time is short."
The horse and rider shot away down the country road like an arrow, or
a bird. On and on, with the speed of the wind, and yet the lightning
express made even greater speed than did the detective's horse.
With a roar and a rush the train swept past.
Too late!
Dyke Darrel drew rein at the depot just as the train swept madly away
on its course to the great city, and on the rear platform stood the
old man who had peered into the farm-house window but a short time
before.
It was an aggravating situation.
"You can use the telegraph," suggested the depot agent, when Darrel
unbosomed himself to him.
"Quick! Send word to the next station, and have the man detained."
The ticket agent went to his instrument and ticked off the desired
information.
A little later came the reply:
"No such person on the train."
A malediction fell from the detective's lips. Was his enemy to thus
outwit him always?