LATE VISITORS
The little express office was dark and lonely-looking when Bart again
reached it.
Bart unlocked the office door, shot the inside bolt carefully after him,
lighted the lantern, placed it on the desk, and opened the safe.
As he selected the big brown envelope marked "Martin & Company," and
bearing the express company's shining green seals, his fingers tingled.
The immensity of the sum intrusted to his charge perturbed him a trifle.
Bart relocked the safe, stowed the envelope in an inner pocket, and
opened the drawer of a little stand leaning against the safe.
He took out a revolver. Mr. Leslie himself had advised him to always
have one handy in the express office. Bart had never touched the weapon
before. It had been loaned him by Mr. Haven, and Darry had brought it
to the office. Bart slipped it now into a side pocket.
He noticed in detail the entry on the messenger's slip. The prepaid
charges on the Martin & Company consignment were seven dollars and
seventy-five cents, or five cents for every hundred dollars or fraction
of it over the first fifty dollars, which was charged for at regular
tariff rates, twenty-five cents.
"It is fifteen thousand dollars, right enough!" mused Bart. "Now, to
make sure of the form of receipt."
He filled out a special receipt that acknowledged besides the usual
delivery, a verification of the amount of the inclosure, its acceptance
as correct, and left a blank for the names of two witnesses.
Bart was now ready to sally forth on his peculiar errand, and had fully
decided in his mind the persons he would get to act as his witnesses.
"What is that!" he questioned, suddenly and sharply.
He could hear a springy vehicle bound over the near tracks, and then its
wheels cut the loose cindered road leading up to the express office.
It halted. He could catch the quick, labored breathing of two horses, a
carriage door creaked! some low voices made a brief hum of
conversation, and the vehicle seemed to depart.
Bart stood stock-still, wondering and guessing. Footsteps sounded on the
platform. There came a thundering thump as of a heavy cane on the office
door.
"Who is there?" demanded Bart.
"Colonel Harrington. I've got to see you."
"Come in," Bart said, unbolting the door.
Colonel Harrington was red of face and fussy of manner. He threw the
door shut with his foot, and sank to a bench, breathing heavily.
"Was there something you wanted to say to me, Colonel Harrington?"
inquired Bart.
"Yes there was!" snapped out the rich man of Pleasantville. "Anxious to
see you! Just drove up to your house. They told me you were here. I once
offered you a hundred dollars."
Bart nodded, with a faint smile.
"It wasn't enough," stumbled on the colonel. "I am now going to make it
a thousand."
"Why, what for, Colonel Harrington?" demanded Bart in surprise.
"Because you can earn it."
"How?"
"Shall I be blunt and plain?"
"It is always the best way."
"Very well, then," resumed the colonel desperately. "A certain
unclaimed express package was sold here to-day, marked A.A. Adams.
You've got it."
"How do you know that?"
"Oh, you know it and I want it. Hand it over, and here"--the colonel
made a dive for his pocketbook--"here's your thousand dollars."
Bart made a signal of remonstrance with his hand, his face grave and
decided.
"Stop right there, Colonel Harrington," he said forcibly. "Are you aware
that you are offering a bribe to a bonded representative of the express
company?"
"Rot take your express company!" growled the colonel angrily. "I am one
of its stock-holders. I could buy the whole concern out, if I wanted
to!"
"Until you do, I obey official instructions," announced Bart. "Please do
not degrade yourself and embarrass me, Colonel Harrington, by saying
anything further on this score. I will not sell my honor, nor swerve a
hair's breadth from a line of duty plain and clear. The package you
refer to was legally purchased by the highest bidder, I hold it
temporarily in trust for him. It is as safe and sacred with me as if it
was the property of the First National Bank of Pleasantville."
Colonel Harrington squirmed, got red and pale by turns, gripped his cane
fiercely, and then, relaxed with a groan.
"It's my property!" he declared. "I can prove it's my property."
"Then I suggest that you persuade the person who bought it of that
fact," said Bart.
"Say!" shot out the colonel eagerly, his eye brightening, "if I bring an
order from that same person, will you give up the package?"
Bart hesitated.
"You know where he is, then?" he inquired suspiciously.
"I--I might find him," stammered the military man.
"I do not think I would," said Bart. "Bring him here personally, and I
will hand it over to him--in your presence, if he says so."
The colonel groaned again. It was plainly to be seen that he was in an
intense inward frenzy.
"Stirling, you've got to give me that package!" he cried, springing to
his feet and lifting his cane threateningly.
"Have I?" said Bart, facing him watchingly.
"Be careful, Colonel Harrington! you are pretty near committing a
criminal offense."
"You're in the plot--you know all about it! Give up that package,
or--or--"
"Colonel Harrington," said Bart calmly, but every word ringing out as
clear as the tone of a bell, "I am no ruffian, and I hate violence, but
if you lift that cane to me again--I'll shoot."
Bart showed the gleaming top of the weapon in his pocket, backing to the
door.
Just then the door behind him was forcibly thrust open, its edge hitting
him violently. Then someone pounced upon him.
The attack was sudden and effective. A piece of rope was looped deftly
about Bart's arms, holding him helpless, secured behind, and as he was
pushed roughly against the desk. Lem Wacker's evil face leered down upon
him.
"Don't you holler!" ordered Lem.
As he spoke, he leaned over the railing. The waste box held a mass of
cotton that had packed some of the parcels disposed of at the sale that
afternoon. Lem grabbed up a handful, and forcibly stuffed it into Bart's
mouth.
"Wacker! Wacker!" gasped Colonel Harrington in affright, "don't--don't
hurt him. This is dreadful--"
"Shut up!" ordered Lem Wacker recklessly, "you want something and don't
know how to get it. I do--and will."
He snatched at Bart's tightly-buttoned coat and tore it loose, groped
inside and drew out a package.
"I've got it," he announced. "No!--he ripped off the end of the
parcel--here's a haul."
Bart writhed, choked on the loose strangling filaments of cotton, but
could not utter a word.
"Give me that package!" cried the colonel. "Stop! where are you going?"
Lem Wacker had bolted. The colonel stared in marveling astonishment as
his cohort sprang through the open doorway. Bart had managed to wad the
cotton in his mouth into a compact wet mass, enabling him to speak.
"Colonel Harrington!" he cried, "that man has not got the package you
were after. He has instead stolen a money envelope for Martin & Company
containing fifteen thousand dollars in currency, and is making off with
it. Cut this rope instantly that I may pursue him, or I give you my word
that, as a partner in his crime, rich as you are, and influential as you
are, you shall go to the State penitentiary."