A WARNING
Frank was so impressed by the look on the stranger's face that, for
a moment, he almost made up his mind to speak to him, though he had
never seen him before. The man who had thus given Frank the glance of
warning was a quiet-looking person, as soberly dressed as his manner
was restrained. Yet his clothing was expensive and he seemed to be a
cultured gentleman.
Evidently something in Frank's manner must have conveyed to him that
the young man had it in mind to speak, for once again catching Frank's
eye, the man slowly shook his head, as though to discourage any opening
to an introduction, at least just then.
"I wonder what he means?" thought Frank to himself. "He heard me
mention the name Royston, and he looked interested. Well, I guess I'll
go a bit slow."
The unpleasant incident of the chance encounter with the man Frank had
collided with in the bank, gradually passed away. The chums and their
friends busied themselves about ordering a substantial breakfast, Pep
getting the ham and eggs he had specified.
"And that's the fellow you had the row with?" questioned Randy, as
there came a pause in the clatter of knives and forks.
"Not so loud," cautioned Frank, for the train had come to a stop, and
there was silence in the dining-car. "He'll hear you."
Indeed the portly man was looking, at that moment, around at the tables
where sat our friends. But if he heard what Randy said he gave no sign,
and went on eating.
He was a most particular person, for he ordered several dishes and
after inspecting them through his nose glasses, sent them back, to
the no small annoyance of the waiter. Finally the manager of the car
himself came up, and there ensued some rather warm talk.
"Well, I know what I want, and I'm going to have it if I pay for it!"
stormed the portly man. "You fellows can't bluff me! You're a set of
legalized robbers, anyhow, in this Pullman service!"
The manager and the waiters were probably used to such unfair
treatment, for they did not reply. Frank looked at the quiet man at the
table just beyond him, and again was aware of an unexpressed signal of
warning in the steelly blue eyes that looked into his.
"I wonder what it means?" thought Frank. "I'm going to find out before
I'm much older, though. There is something queer about this man
Royston, of that I'm certain."
Breakfast was almost over, and yet the friends lingered at the table,
for they had much to talk about. Their start for the big fair had been
very sudden.
Pep wanted Frank to send another telegram, _en route_, telling the
manager of the Zone concessions that they were on their way to pick out
a place, and to urge him to save one for them.
But Frank, and the older members of the party also, decided that too
much risk was involved in this, and agreed that it was better to wait
until arriving on the ground.
"Well, there's nothing we can do except look at the scenery," remarked
Randy, as he prepared to rise from the table.
"Look out!" suddenly exclaimed Frank, for, at that moment, Royston was
coming down the aisle, on the way back to his coach. Frank had felt the
train about to take another curve, and he did not want his chum to
have an encounter with the crusty man.
As it was, Royston swayed as he came near Randy, and, only for the
fact that Frank pulled his chum to one side, there might have been a
collision.
"Humph! You young fellows always seem to be getting in the way,"
grumbled the red-faced man. "But maybe it was my fault this time." He
made a pretense at smiling, and it was evident that he was in better
humor since his breakfast.
"Yes, there seems to be a lot of bad curves around here," observed
Strapp, always ready to be friendly with everyone. "Are you going far,
sir?"
"All the way to 'Frisco," replied the man. "How about you folks?"
He seemed decidedly friendly now.
"Oh, we're going there, too--to the Fair," replied the Westerner.
At that moment Frank caught sight of the face of the quiet man, still
seated at his breakfast, and Frank was sure he saw the man shake his
head in negation, as though he wanted to convey the idea that it was
best not to get acquainted with the portly man.
So sure was Frank of this that he decided to make use of his
impression, so, accordingly, he interrupted with:
"Oh, Mr. Strapp! There's something I want to ask you about. I almost
forgot it. Come back to our car. I may have to write back to New York
and we can mail the letter at the next stop."
"Oh, all right," said the unsuspicious Westerner. "I thought we
attended to everything back East."
Hank Strapp was already speaking of the East as though he was well out
West.
"It's just a little matter," said Frank. "It won't take long."
The man Royston looked at Frank a bit suspiciously, as though he
suspected the conversation was manufactured on the spur of the moment,
but he said nothing. Instead he closed his lips over the utterance he
had half formed, and went on his way out of the dining-car.
As Frank walked past the quiet man he saw the latter carefully extend
a slip of paper, in the shadow of the cut-glass water carafe on the
table. Without looking at the slip Frank managed to pick it up as he
passed, none of his companions being aware of his action.
Back in their own coach Frank did consult with Hank about a certain
matter concerning some films they had leased. And when this was over,
and Randy was writing a letter, to be dropped off at the next station,
Frank found time to look at the note the quiet man had passed him. It
was brief. He read:
"Make a chance to see me alone, if possible. I want to warn you."
The note was signed "Richard Bullard, United States Secret Service."
"Whew!" whistled Frank. "I wonder what's in the wind now? United States
Secret Service, eh? That sure is going some, as Mr. Strapp would say. I
wonder what I'd better do?"
In a moment Frank had made up his mind that there was but one thing to
do--to obey the instructions given in the note. At first the young man
was in two minds about taking some of his friends into his confidence.
Then he decided against that course.
"If it amounts to anything at all, I can tell them later," he said.
"And, on the other hand, if it isn't anything, I can slide out of it
all the easier if I haven't made a fuss over it and told them all. Yes,
I'll just keep quiet about it, and see Mr. Bullard alone."
It was not easy to make this opportunity, for Randy and Pep wanted
to talk with him on many subjects, and they would not leave him alone
for any length of time. It was easier in regard to Hank and Ben Jolly,
for they were content to sit by the window, now and then gazing out at
the scenery, or dozing off. The farther West the train proceeded the
more Strapp became interested. He was continually seeing some point of
interest that connected itself with his past life in the land of the
plains.
Finally, however, Frank found an opportunity to stroll out of his
car. He had seen Mr. Bullard nod toward the coach in front of the
dining-car, and Frank believed the Secret Service man had his seat in
there. The coach of the chums was in the rear of the dining-car.
Frank made his way forward, and as he passed through the dining-coach
he encountered, in the buffet, or lunch-room end of the vehicle, the
portly, red-faced Royston, who was eating a sandwich.
"Hello!" he exclaimed, on sight of Frank. "I'm eating again, you see!"
"Yes," responded Frank, but his voice was not at all cordial.
"I always eat between breakfast and lunch," Royston went on. "It keeps
me from getting run down."
A look at his portly frame did not disclose any evidences of the
"running down" to which he referred. Frank passed on, taking good care
to keep far enough away from the unpleasant passenger so there could be
no excuse for the claim of another collision.
"What part of the fair are you making for?" asked Royston, pausing with
a sandwich half way to his mouth, as Frank passed on.
"We haven't decided yet," was the answer, and Frank heard the stout
man grunt. Whether this was because of the shortness of the answer, or
because a lurch of the train threw the heavy man against the side of
the buffet, Frank did not stop to determine.
The youth passed on into the next coach, and looked about. Almost at
once his eyes rested on the face of the quiet man, who seemed to be on
the watch for him.
"I am glad you came in," said Mr. Bullard. "First I must apologize for
the manner in which I forced myself upon you, but I am trying to do you
a service."
"That's all right," said Frank, easily. "I appreciate your efforts. Am
I right in thinking your warning has to do with Royston?"
"Ah, I see you know his name then, or, rather, one of them," replied
Mr. Bullard. "Yes, it has to do with him. Now I don't know you, or
your friends, but I do know this man. And I don't know your plans or
business, and I can't say I know all of his. But I do know enough about
him to warn you against having anything to do with him. I can see that,
in spite of his grouchiness, he is aiming to get better acquainted with
you, for his own objects, doubtless. Are you annoyed that I should
speak this way?" he asked.
"Not at all," replied Frank, cordially. "In fact, I want to thank you.
I haven't liked that man since I first met him."
"Do you mind telling me how you did meet him?" asked the Secret Service
man. "Not that it's any of my business," he added, quickly. "But I am
on that man's trail, and----"
"Is he an escaping criminal?" asked Frank, quickly, all his suspicions
coming to the fore.
"Not exactly, as yet, though he may be," was the reply. "I am keeping
him shadowed, as we call it. He doesn't know me, and I don't want him
to suspect. That is why I asked you to come to me secretly. I know this
man to be unprincipled. One of the names he goes by is Bradley Royston.
It is sufficiently aristocratic for his purposes at times. But you
haven't told me how you came to meet him."
"It was in our bank," Frank explained, and then he went into details
of the encounter with Royston, speaking of the refusal of the man to
properly identify himself to the paying teller.
"That would be just like him," said Mr. Bullard. "Now I want to warn
you and your friends to have nothing to do with him."
"What sort of a man is he?" asked Frank.
"He poses as a promoter of theatrical and other amusement enterprises,"
replied Mr. Bullard, "but nearly all of them have been of questionable
character. The government is after him now on suspicions of using the
United States mails to defraud--selling stock in fake amusement places
is one of his specialties.
"I have been assigned to work up a case against him, but, so far, I
have not succeeded very well. But I am not giving up.
"As I said, I don't know your affairs, nor what your business is, but I
do know about Royston."
"We're in motion picture enterprises," volunteered Frank.
"Ah, that accounts for it!" exclaimed Mr. Bullard. "He had----"
At that moment, around the curved passage that led to the smoking
compartment, came Royston himself. He glanced sharply at Frank and the
Secret Service man.