WHAT THE BLACK BOX CONTAINED
Not to disturb the sleeping man, the boys followed Joel Runnell out
to a barn behind the cottage, and there the old hunter told them how
Andrew Akers had been since they had seen him last.
“He is a very nervous fellow,” said Joel Runnell, “and very weak. But
I thought as how he was gettin’ right smart until this business o’ the
box came up. Now he has gone down ag’in, an’ there ain’t no tellin’
when he’ll git up once more.”
“The contents of the box must be very valuable,” said Fred. “Did he
hide it, as he said he would?”
“Yes,--one day when I went to the store for some meat. He had been to
the woodshed an’ the barn, weak as he was. But I dunno where he put
the box. Then, when I went to the store yesterday, he got the box back
ag’in.”
“Has anybody been here to see him?” questioned Harry.
“Not to see him exactly. Some folks come here, to see me an’ to sell
stuff. One day a feller came with farmin’ machinery an’ asked the way
to Dickerson’s farm. He happened to see the old man through a crack o’
the door an’ he was awfully astonished. He wanted to know wot he was
a-doin’ here, and I said he was sick an’ restin’. Then the feller went
off mumbling to himself.”
“Who was he? Did you get his name?” asked Link.
“No, I didn’t. I never see him before, nor since.”
“Hark!” interrupted Joe, holding up his hand for silence. “I think Mr.
Akers is calling!”
All listened and heard a feeble cry from the cottage. Joel Runnell
turned at once in that direction.
“I’ll tell him you’ve come,” he said.
The boys waited for a few minutes. Then the old hunter came back.
“He’s sittin’ up an’ wants to see all of you,” he said. “But you better
not excite him too much, or he may have another sinkin’ spell.”
Silently the boys, led by Joe and Harry, filed into the cottage and
to the side room, where Andrew Akers sat propped up with pillows in
bed. The old inventor looked pale and worn, and his eyes had a hungry,
anxious look in them.
“So you are here, are you?” he said, in a low voice. “Got the message,
eh?”
“Yes, Mr. Akers, and we all came as quickly as we could,” answered Joe,
softly.
“I am glad of it, because I want to ask you some important questions.
And I want all of you to tell me the truth--the strict truth,
understand?” the old man went on, in a rising voice.
[Illustration: “AND I WANT ALL OF YOU TO TELL ME THE TRUTH.”]
“We’ll tell you everything we know, sir. But please don’t get excited,
Mr. Akers. It makes you sick.”
“Never mind about my being sick, young man. You tell me the plain
truth. All of you tell me the truth,” and Andrew Akers glanced from the
elder Westmore boy to his four companions.
“We’ll tell you the truth,” said Bart; and the others nodded.
“I want to know all about that black box--my box,” continued the aged
man. “Did you open it at all?”
“We did not, Mr. Akers. I told you that before,” answered Joe, promptly.
“Did any of you open it?”
“No, sir!” came from each of the others.
“It was locked and we had no key,” added Fred.
“You said you saw it fall from the biplane when I was in the air?”
“We did,” replied Joe.
“Did anybody have a chance to get to it before you picked it up?”
“I don’t think so,” went on the elder Westmore youth, and the others
shook their heads to show that they agreed with him.
“And did anybody outside of you have a chance to open it between the
time you found it and when you gave it to me?”
“I hardly think so, sir,” replied Joe. “Of course such a thing might
have occurred; but I don’t think it did.”
“But they are gone! My valuable papers are gone!” groaned the old man.
“I thought them so safe, and now they are gone!” And a look akin to
agony crossed his countenance.
“You mean the papers that were in the box when it fell from the
biplane?” asked Harry.
“Yes! yes!”
“But you told us they were safe when you opened the box after we gave
it to you,” continued the younger Westmore boy, thinking the aged
inventor had forgotten what had occurred.
“So I did, but I was mistaken. I looked only at the envelopes of two
of the packages,--I did not attempt to examine the contents. When I
came to look at them more closely yesterday I found the original
contents gone, and in place of them some worthless paper, of no value
to anybody!”
“Well, we didn’t take a thing, Mr. Akers, I can give you my word of
honor on that!” cried Joe. “As soon as we found that the box was
locked we put it in the auto and brought it to you. Of course while we
were caring for you somebody might have opened the box and taken your
things. But I didn’t see anybody around.”
“Neither did I,” added one and another of the lads present.
“Mr. Akers, would you mind telling us what is missing?” questioned
Bart, after an awkward silence, during which the suffering man clasped
and unclasped his hands nervously.
The old inventor looked keenly at first one boy and then another. Then
he fell back with a sigh and for a moment closed his eyes.
“You look like honest lads, and I will trust you,” he replied, slowly.
“I fancy you have done what you could for me, and I know Runnell has
done his best, too. Forgive me for having suspected you of wrongdoing.
But I have been very sick and this has upset me terribly. If I do not
get those documents back I may be ruined--ruined!” And his voice sank
into a hoarse whisper.
“Now take it easy, Mr. Akers,” said Joel Runnell, soothingly. “It won’t
do you no good to git excited--take it easy.”
“Very well--I shall try to be calm,” answered the sufferer. He paused
for a moment. “If I tell you boys my secret will you do what you can to
help me?” he questioned, brokenly.
“Yes, indeed!” cried Harry, quickly, and the others said practically
the same.
“The packages contained two things of great importance,” went on
the aged inventor. “One was the plans of my new gasoline engine--an
engine not yet quite perfected and so not yet patented. The other was
my certificate of stock in the newly-reorganized Springfield Novelty
Manufacturing Company.”
“Well, can’t you duplicate the plans?” asked Link.
“That is not the point, my boy. I have enemies and bitter rivals,
and they would like nothing better than to get hold of my plans and
inventions and patent them in their names--and thus leave me in the
cold. And what is true regarding the inventions is likewise true of
the certificate of twelve thousand dollars’ worth of stock in the
Springfield Novelty Company.”
“Why, I thought stock in a company was always registered, or something
like that,” put in Joe, who had heard his father talk over such matters.
“So it is, but in this case the registering was done--had to be done,
in fact--by an enemy of mine, Mr. Thomas Mason, of Brookside. Now if he
or any of his tools got hold of that certificate of stock, don’t you
see how easy it would be for him to wipe my name off the records and
place the stock in his name?”
“Would he be bad enough to do that?” asked Harry.
“After the way he has treated me in the past, I think he would do
anything to get the better of me. Some years ago I exposed some of his
underhanded work in the organizing of a windmill company and he has
never forgiven me for it. I saved the money of a number of poor and
needy stockholders and came close to sending Mason to prison. That
made him very bitter, and since then he has done all in his power to
corner me. I knew he was after my new gasoline-engine ideas, but I did
not know he was in the newly-organized Novelty Manufacturing Company
until I had agreed to put my cash into it,--and then it was too late
to withdraw. Then I got interested in aviation, and I did not give him
another thought until I heard that he was snooping around, watching
me like a cat watches a mouse. That made me nervous, and that is why
I carried the black box with me, as I told you before. Now I reckon I
would have done better had I hidden it somewhere,” added Andrew Akers,
bitterly.
“Have you seen this Mr. Mason around anywhere?” asked Joe.
“No, he has not dared to show his face here. But I feel sure he is
keeping track of me.”
“But you haven’t any proofs that he has your documents,” said Bart,
bluntly. “After all, Mr. Akers, you may be misjudging the man.”
“Possibly; but I don’t think so. If you boys didn’t take those
documents--and I believe now that you didn’t--then I feel certain that
Mason or somebody acting for him took them.”
“Well, we wouldn’t dare go to him and accuse him without some proofs,”
said Link. “He might have us locked up if we did that.”
“No, that would do no good, my boy. But I know what one of you might
do!” cried the aged inventor, brightening. “You might go to Springfield
and find out about that stock--see if it is still in my name. You could
say that I wanted to sell it to your father, and that he wanted to know
if it was all right. If the clerk in charge says it is there on the
books, in my name, that will be proof in court that the stock is mine.
I can sign a letter offering the stock to Mr. Westmore, or Mr. Rush,
or whoever you please,--just for a blind.”
“All right, sir--I will do that,” answered Joe, readily. “I can run up
to Springfield on the train to-morrow.”
“Take somebody along as an additional witness.”
“I’ll go with Joe,” put in Fred. “I’ve got an aunt in Springfield and
we can call on her and get dinner there.”
By this time the aged inventor was almost exhausted and he had to rest
a while before dictating the letter which he later on signed. He told
something of his business, and also let fall the information that he
had hidden the black box in the barn, just as Joel Runnell had surmised.
“I was afraid Mason or his tools would come in here while Runnell was
away and rob me,” he said.
“Maybe they took the documents while the box was in the barn,”
suggested Link.
“Possibly, although I hid it in a safe place, under some old lumber.”
“If we find the stock is all right in your name, maybe you can cover
your ideas for the new engine, too,” added Harry, hopefully.
“I doubt it. If they have the working plans, they can go ahead and get
the patent while I am sick here,” answered the sufferer, with a long
sigh.
More talk followed, but soon it was plain to be seen that Andrew Akers
was on the verge of a collapse, and the boys withdrew, Joe carrying the
signed letter with him.
“Better try to keep him quiet,” said Joe to the old hunter. “Tell him
we’ll do all we can for him.”
“I’ll keep him as quiet as possible. But he gits mighty nervous-like
sometimes.”
Soon the boys had their bicycles out on the road and with a waving of
hands to Joel Runnell, they mounted their wheels and set off in the
direction of Brookside and Lakeport. It was nearly five o’clock and
they knew they would not get home until long after the supper hour. But
this did not worry them, for they had told their folks that they would
not be home until late.
“I know what I am going to do,” remarked Joe, as they pedaled along,
over the bridge outside of Cresco.
“What?” asked the others.
“Stop at the Dickerson farm and try to find out who that man was with
farming machinery who asked about Mr. Akers.”