A NIGHT MESSAGE
The crowd had melted away, Bob Haven was totally engrossed with the
magnificent prize he had drawn, and Darry was busily engaged in closing
up the records of the sale.
Bart was thoroughly mystified at the strange conduct of Baker, and very
much disappointed at not finding him, now that he sought the mysterious
man.
McCarthy had gone home, and Lem Wacker was not in evidence. Some boys
were guarding a pile of stuff that had been purchased and thrown aside.
Bart set at work cleaning up the package coverings that littered the
place inside and outside.
Things were back to normal when the afternoon express came in. It was
nearly two hours late, and closing time.
There was the usual grist of store packages, which Darry attended to,
and several special envelopes. These Bart placed in the safe along with
the proceeds of the day derived from the sale, barely glancing over the
duplicate receipt he had signed for the messenger.
He noticed that two of the specials were for the local bank, and the
third for the big pickle factory of Martin & Company, at the edge of the
town.
"Both closed up by this time," ruminated Bart. "We can't deliver
to-night. Anything very urgent among that stuff, Darry?"
"Nothing," replied his young assistant.
"You can go home, then," directed Bart. "Pretty tired, eh? A big day's
work, this."
"Say, Bart," spoke up Darry, as he dallied at the door, "who was the
fellow that bought that last package?"
"A friend of mine, Darry," answered Bart seriously. "And I am worried
about him. He is the man I told you about who helped me save my father
the night of the fire."
"He acted very queerly. And Lem Wacker, too," added Darry thoughtfully.
"Is something new up, Bart? The way Wacker carried on, he seemed to have
some idea in his head."
"He had the idea he could bulldoze me," said Bart bluntly, "and found
he couldn't. What bothers me is, why were both of them so anxious to get
this package?"
Bart took it out of his pocket as he spoke, nodded good night to Darry,
and sat down on a bench, turning the parcel over and over in his hand.
"A.A. Adams," he read from the tag, "a queer name, and no one answering
to it here in Pleasantville. I wonder why Baker was so excited when he
heard that name? I wonder why Lem Wacker bid it up? Is he aware of the
mystery surrounding Baker? Has this package got something to do with it?
Wacker looked as though he had struck a prosperous streak, and bragged
recklessly about the lot of money he could get. I must find Baker. He
was in no condition, mentally or physically, to wander about at random."
The package in question, Bart decided, held papers. It had been given
him in trust, and he could not open it without Baker's permission. He
replaced it in his pocket and went forth.
Bart visited all of Baker's old familiar haunts in the freight yards,
but found no trace of him. Then he called at the Sharp Corner. Its
proprietor claimed that Lem Wacker had not been there since noon.
Bart spoke to two of the yards night watchmen. He described Baker, and
requested them to speak to him if they ran across him, and to tell him
that Bart Stirling was very anxious to see him up at his house.
Affairs at the little express office had settled down to routine when,
one morning, Darry Haven dropped into the place.
He found Bart engrossed in reading a letter very carefully. Its envelope
lay on the desk. Glancing at it casually, Darry saw that it was from
express headquarters.
"Anything wrong?" he inquired, as Bart folded up the letter and placed
it in his pocket.
"Not with me, anyway," replied Bart with a smile. "There is something
wrong at Cardysville, a hundred miles or so down the main line," he went
on.
"And how does that interest you, Bart?"
"Why, it seems I have got to go down there on some business for the
Company."
"To-day?"
"The sooner the better, that letter says. It is from the inspector. It
is quite flattering to me, for he starts out with complimenting the
excellent business system this office has always sustained."
"H'm!" chuckled Darry--"any mention of your valued extra help?"
"No, but that may come along, for you have got to represent me here
again to-day, and possibly to-morrow."
"Is that so?" said Darry. "Well, I guess I can arrange."
"You see," explained Bart, "the letter is a sort of confidential one.
Reading between the lines, I assume that a certain Peter Pope, now
express agent at Cardysville, and evidently recently appointed, is a
relative of one of the officials of the company. Anyway, he has been
running--or not running--things for a week. The inspector writes that
the man has very little to do, for it is a small station, but that very
little he appears to do very badly."
"How, Bart?"
"His reports and returns are all mixed up. He doesn't have the least
idea of how to run things intelligently. The inspector asks me to go and
see him, take some of our blanks, open a set of books for him, and try
and install a system that will bring things around clearer."
"Why, Bart," exclaimed Darry, "they have promoted you!"
"I don't see it, Darry."
"That's traveling auditor's work. Besides, a delicate and confidential
mission for an official. Wake up! you've struck a higher rung on the
ladder, and I'll wager they'll boost you fast."
"Nonsense, Darry, I happen to be handy and accommodating, and they don't
want to turn the fellow down on account of his 'pull.' Maybe they think
the offer and suggestions of a boy will have a result where a regular
official visit would offend Mr. Peter Pope's backer--see?"
All the same, Bart felt very much pleased over this unexpected
communication. He blessed his lucky stars that he had such a bright and
dependable substitute at hand as Darry Haven.
The latter soon made his school and home arrangements, and Bart left
affairs in his hands about ten o'clock, catching the train west after
getting a pass for the Cardysville round trip.
It was two o'clock when the train arrived at Bart's destination. He
found Cardysville to be a place of about 2,000 inhabitants. Most of the
town, however, lay half-a-mile away from the B. & M. Railroad, another
line cutting in farther north.
Bart noticed crowds of people and a circus tent in the distance. The
express shed was a gloomy little den of a place on a spur track. Near
the depot was a small lunch counter. Bart got something to eat, and
strolled down the tracks.
As he drew near to the express shed, Bart noticed an old armchair out on
its platform.
A very stout man in his shirt sleeves sat in this, smoking a pipe.
He got up and waddled around restlessly. Bart noticed that he approached
the door of the express office on tiptoe. He acted scared, for, bending
his ear to listen, he retreated precipitately. Then he stood
stock-still, staring stupidly at the building.
He gave a nervous start as Bart came up behind him--quite a jump, in
fact. Bart, studying his flabby, uneasy face, wondered what was the
matter with the man.
"Hello!" jerked out the Cardysville express agent. "Sort of startled
me."
"Are you Mr. Pope?" inquired Bart.
"Yes, that's me," assented the other. "Stranger here? looking for me?"
"I am," answered Bart. "My name is Stirling. I work at the express
office at Pleasantville."
"Oh, yes, I've heard of you," said Peter Pope. "The express inspector
wrote me about you. He said you was a young kid, sort of green in the
business, who might drop in on me to get some points on the business."
"Quite so," nodded Bart with a side smile, "catching on," as the phrase
goes, and at once falling in with the way the inspector was working
matters. "We can't learn too much about the express business, you know,
and I thought that by comparing notes with you we might dig out
something of mutual benefit."
"You bet!" responded Pope, perking up quite grandly. "The Vice-President
of the express company is my cousin. I've got a big pull. Soon as I get
the ropes learned, I'm going for a manager's job in the city."
"That will be quite fine," said Bart. "I brought some books and blanks
with me, and, if you can spare the time, I would like to have you see
how our system strikes you."
"Sure. Come in--no, that is, I'll bring out a chair. I keep only one
record. I've got this business simplified down to a lead pencil and a
scratch book, see?"
Bart did "see," and knew that the express inspector had "seen," also. He
wondered why Pope did not take him into the office. He marveled still
more as, watching Pope, he noticed he hesitated at the door of the
express shed. Then Pope moved forward as if actually unwilling to enter
the place.
Half a minute after he had disappeared within the shed, Pope came
rushing out, pale and flustered. He tumbled over the chair he was
bringing to Bart, and a book he carried went flying from under his arm
into the dirt of the road beyond the platform.
"Why," exclaimed Bart, in some surprise, "what is the matter, Mr. Pope?"
"Matter!" gasped Pope, his eyes rolling, as he backed away from the
doorway, "say, that place is haunted!"
"What place?"
"The express room. I've been worried for an hour. It's nigh tuckered me
out."
"What has?" inquired Bart
"Groans, hisses, rustlings. I thought a while back that someone was
hiding in among the express stuff, and trying to scare me. 'Taint so,
though. I went among it, and there's no place for anybody to hide."
"Oh, pshaw!" said Bart reassuringly, "you are only nervous, Mr. Pope.
It's some live freight, likely. Can I take a look?"
"Sure--wish you would. I've been posting up on express business, you
see, maybe that's the matter. Read about fellows hiding in boxes, and
jumping out and murdering the messenger. Read about enemies sending a
man exploding bombs, and blowing him to pieces."
"Nonsense, Mr. Pope!" said Bart, "you don't look as if you had an enemy
in the world."
"I haven't," declared Peter Pope, "but every business man has his
rivals, of course. I've heard that those city chaps have an eye on any
fellow that makes a record like I'm making here. They don't want to see
him get ahead. They must guess that I'm in line for a big promotion, and
that might worry them into playing some tragical trick on me."
Bart wanted to laugh outright. He kept a straight face, and solemnly
started to investigate the trouble. He stepped into the express room and
took a keen look around, Pope timorously following him.
"There!" panted Pope suddenly, "what did I tell you?"
"That's so," said Bart. "It is sort of mysterious. Someone groaned,
sure. What have you here, anyway?"
Bart went over to a heap of express matter, come in just that morning.
There were several small crates, a box or two, and a very large trunk.
Bart centered his attention on this latter. He stooped down as his quick
eye observed a row of holes at one end, just under the hauling strap.
"Quiet, for a minute," he whispered warningly to Pope, who, big-eyed and
trembling, resembled a man on the threshold of some most appalling
discovery.
Bart's strained hearing shortly caught a rustling sound. It was followed
by a kind of choking moan. Unmistakably, he decided, both came from the
trunk.
"Is it locked? No," he said, examining the front of the trunk. Then Bart
snapped back its two catches. He seized the cover and threw it back.
"Gracious!" gasped Peter Pope.
Bart himself was a trifle startled.
As the trunk cover lifted, a man stepped out.