ABOARD THE PRIVATE CAR, "OBASKA"
For many years self-repression had stood high in the estimation of
Hughey Podmore as a thing worth cultivating. He had first learned the
value of it in many a clandestine game of poker, which he had
condescended to play of a Saturday afternoon in a corner of the
deserted composing-room. In those days of his early newspaper
experience the ink-daubed denizens of the "ad-alley" had paid with
hard-earned wages for many a fancy vest and expensive cravat which the
paper's star reporter had worn with such aplomb. And when he had
adventured afield into wider pastures more in harmony with his talents,
where the cards were not soiled nor the air pungent with printers' ink
and benzine, he had taken with him a tendency to quiet tones of speech
and quietness of movement.
Being a believer in rubber-heels and a cool head, therefore, the
secretary to the President of the Canadian Lake Shores Railway went
about his duties with his customary assurance. After the first
excitement of his startling discovery had passed there was nothing in
his manner to indicate the fires which burned within. To one who knew
him well, perhaps, it might have seemed that for the two weeks which
followed the mysterious disappearance of the tan satchel he was even a
little quieter than usual, a little more restrained in his talk, and a
little more alert in movement. Beyond this he gave no indication of
the keen disappointment and mortification that possessed him.
It had been the biggest stake for which he had yet played. He had
stacked the cards with particular care till, so he had thought, all
element of risk had been eliminated. But for this his natural caution
would have deterred him from the attempt. What he had completely
overlooked was the possibility that some one else might decide this was
any man's money who was clever enough to acquire it. Figure as he
might--and he had spent hours in deep thought--even his keen mind had
been unable to solve the situation to his satisfaction. Somebody had
stepped in and walked off with this money in front of his nose in spite
of the most elaborate precautions. Who had done this, and how? It had
been done so cleverly that not a single clue was left for Podmore to
work on--once he had proved beyond question that Clayton had not
double-crossed him. Clayton had taken the first train for Chicago; but
not before Podmore had third-degreed him into abject fear. No, Clayton
had had no hand in it; that was certain, and with that once
established, the identity of the arch-thief remained a mystery which
baffled investigation--especially when the situation called for the
utmost circumspection.
It was a problem which Podmore was forced to solve without consulting
anyone. He could not go boldly to his supposed partners with his
discovery; for thereby he would reveal to Nickleby and Alderson his own
attempt at double dealing. That he had to be very careful what he did,
Mr. Hughey Podmore realized,--very careful indeed. For this mix-up
held many possibilities for personal misfortune. In fact, the
situation suddenly had become fraught with positive danger. There were
moments, therefore, when the cautious Mr. Podmore felt qualms which
though not born of a troubled conscience, were nonetheless
disagreeable. Conscience in the case of Hughey Podmore, if it had ever
existed, had been a stunted affair which because of malnutrition long
since had given up the ghost. Its place had been pre-empted by
Argus-eyed regard for all matters affecting the preservation of Mr.
Podmore's precious epidermis--the safety of his own skin. And Hughey
Podmore was well aware that a large contribution to campaign funds by a
construction company would be a matter of immediate suspicion among
opponents of the Government if it became known. Such things had got
people into trouble before this. It had been one of the things which
had landed the famous Honorable Harrington Rives in jail--and others
who were involved.
Hughey Podmore knew all about that strenuous period of political chaos.
Twelve years ago he had been an eager-eyed young reporter with a large
appreciation of newspaper sensations. His skill at ferreting into
hidden recesses by unscrupulous methods had made him a valuable man for
a paper which was willing to ignore certain time-honored traditions of
the press. Under editorial stimulus Hughey had blossomed forth among
the flowers of the journalistic profession as a yellow chrysanthemum.
"Mum" became the word wherever Hughey showed himself! His reputation
finally had ostracised him into other fields of endeavor.
Those had been the days! If only he and Rives had been working
together! If he had been managing Rives' campaigns there would have
been no crude mistakes to land the "people's idol" behind the bars,
Waring or no Waring. He would have seen that every dainty dish was
properly cooked before it was set before the King, its inner rawness
safely covered, done up brown. By all means let there be lemon
filling, but smothered in a beaten white purity that would pass the
public censor! Under his management there would have been no tangible
evidence to show that favored contractors, bidding upon public works,
had been secretly advised that their tenders were too low, and
instructed as to the amounts to which it was safe for them to raise
their new tenders; there would have been no evidence of election
contributions from these favored contractors for the amounts thus
squeezed out of the public treasury.
With such an example of folly to warn him, it was no wonder that the
Honorable Milton Waring had told Nickleby and Alderson he would have
nothing to do with their proposed campaign fund contribution. Nickleby
must have a pretty strong connection even to dare such an approach;
evidently he had felt pretty sure of himself to go ahead with the plan
on his own initiative.
Nickleby believed that Ferguson had the money now. What would he say
if he knew the facts--that the money was really in the hands of some
person unknown, some person perhaps who was interested in gathering
evidence that would upset the present Government? There was only one
thing for Mr. Podmore to do, now that his own pet scheme had failed,
and that was to keep quiet as to his own ambitions and stick to the
three-handed game which he was supposed to be playing with Nickleby and
his henchman, Alderson; for Nickleby was worth tying to.
Thus ran the reflections of Hughey Podmore as he lounged comfortably in
a leather chair aboard the private car, "Obaska," and idly watched the
endless flow of the Algoma wilderness pass the windows monotonously.
The car had taken an inspection party west to the head of the lakes,
but a wire from the Vice-President was sending the President back to
headquarters unexpectedly. Besides President Wade, Podmore and Taylor,
the steward, the only person on board was Bob Cranston. Cranston was
chief of the railroad's Special Service Department. Taylor was busy in
his kitchen, preparing dinner. Cranston and the President had the
brass-railed observation platform at the rear of the car to themselves
and were deep in earnest conversation; they had shut the door at their
backs and the sound of their voices was lost in the roar of the wheels.
Hughey Podmore smiled cynically as he watched them. There was nothing
in President Wade's fine strong profile to indicate the trend of talk.
Both, in fact, were men who seldom allowed what they were thinking to
reflect in their facial expressions too readily. Nevertheless, the
perspicacious Mr. Podmore could surmise the subject of conversation, or
at any rate give a guess which was close enough to satisfy his own
curiosity.
He amused himself by running over the list of possible topics. Wade
was a big man in financial circles, a man of rugged and plain-spoken
dealings who commanded the confidence of every associate and was
respected even by his enemies. There were many matters of moment which
he might have discussed with bankers or lawyers or statesmen, but which
he would hardly attempt with a bull-necked bonehead like Cranston.
Government railway bond issues, franchises and stock-quotations were
beyond that cheap stiff's depth. Probably Cranston was holding forth
in regard to some petty theft which his crew of spotters had
discovered, some ticket-scalping conductor----
Or there was old Nat Lawson's case in which Wade was interested; it was
a topic that was often uppermost in the railway President's mind, as
Podmore knew, and Hughey smiled inscrutably at the smoke curling from
his cigarette. Old Nat, the founder and former president of the
Interprovincial Loan & Savings Company--the honest old fool whom
Nickleby had succeeded in overcoming by a trick, and whose shoes J.
Cuthbert was now wearing! It would take more than the friendship of a
Benjamin Wade, powerful though that was, to salvage Old Nat. That
nanny-whiskered old galoot was sunk in too many fathoms of water ever
to wade ashore. (He smiled at his poor pun.) The missing
power-of-attorney that had scuttled the Lawson supporters would
continue missing for all time to come. Mr. J. Cuthbert Nickleby, the
then genial secretary, had seen to that once for all; in fact, it had
been a charred fragment of the document which Mr. Hugh Podmore had used
as a card of introduction when he had had his first long and very
interesting session with Friend Nickleby.
Some class to Nickleby all right. Here were methods which Mr. Podmore
could understand and admire. It was because the minds of Messrs.
Podmore and Nickleby ran in the same grooves that he had been able to
unearth enough of Nickleby's very private plans to persuade that
"rising young financier" that it was better to set another plate at the
head table than to have the dishes smashed and Lucullus waylaid before
he could reach the banquetting-hall.
So Mr. Podmore had hung up his hat, accepted a cigar and joined the
inner ring, soon proving himself a congenial spirit and an able
counsellor. And inasmuch as President Wade, of the Canadian Lake
Shores Railroad, was seeking about that time for a private secretary
with a newspaper training; inasmuch as it was known to J. Cuthbert
Nickleby that the said President Wade hoped to restore Old Nat Lawson
to his former place in the business world by acquiring control of the
Interprovincial Loan & Savings Company--inasmuch did it seem desirable
in the interests of Messrs. Nickleby and Podmore that Mr. Podmore
should apply for the vacant secretaryship. Podmore had got the
position, thereby enabling Nickleby to keep a finger upon the pulse of
his opposition.
Wade was shrewd, clever, a big man; he knew many things, did Benjamin
Wade, railway magnate. But, reflected Hughey, there were many things
also which he did not know, and there was a disagreeable twist in the
corner of Podmore's mouth as he lounged and smoked. His revered chief
did not know, for instance, that his very competent secretary had spent
the better part of an afternoon alone in the private car "Obaska,"
listening to the click of the tumblers in the little secret wall safe
which the President had had built in behind a sliding panel--listening
so intelligently that the said very competent secretary had come away
with the combination.
Podmore's further enjoyment of retrospection was cut short by a sudden
gesture which rivetted his attention upon the two men on the rear
platform. Cranston had turned suddenly and was peering in at him;
almost automatically Podmore's eyes dropped quickly to the open
magazine on his knee. There was a certain hint of caution on the
railroad detective's face that did not escape the astute secretary.
The latter's vigilance was rewarded presently by seeing Cranston reach
into an inside pocket, pull out a bulky blue envelope and quickly pass
it across to the President. The latter as quickly stowed it out of
sight in an inner pocket of his tweed coat and himself cast a hasty
glance over his shoulder to see if he had been observed. But again Mr.
Podmore's gaze dropped in time and when he raised his eyes casually
from his magazine it was to note an expression of satisfaction upon the
faces of both gentlemen. They got up and came inside, laughing rather
loudly.
"That there steak and onions Taylor's cookin' is sure goin' to hit the
spot," cried Cranston, sniffing with relish. "Eh, Hughey?" He dropped
into the chair alongside the secretary with a familiar slap on the
latter's knee, and thrust his legs out in the sprawling abandon of a
comfortable stretch.
Unfortunately he did this just as President Wade, having turned to toss
away the end of his cigar, took a step forward with a hand thrust into
an inside pocket of his coat, evidently intending to put away in the
safe the envelope which Cranston had given him. The result of
Cranston's sudden movement and Wade's awkward position was that the
President tripped, lost his balance and would have measured full length
on the car floor if Cranston had not caught him. In his effort to save
himself the blue envelope was jerked out of his pocket and fell
directly at Podmore's feet.
"Oh, I beg your pardon, sir!" apologized Cranston hurriedly.
"That's all right, Bob," laughed Wade good naturedly. "Thanks,
Hughey," as his secretary handed him the envelope. "Why, what's the
matter?"
Podmore's face had gone suddenly white and he was trembling visibly.
"Aint you feelin' well, Hughey?" enquired Cranston with concern. He
rang quickly for highballs.
"It's all right,--thanks," stammered Podmore hastily. "I--I guess it's
just a little faintness due to the fact that I ate practically no
lunch--I'm all right now."
Nevertheless when Taylor arrived with the decanter Podmore poured
himself an extra stiff drink. He had need of it. For a second time he
had lost his poise, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that
he prevented any further manifestation of the fact during the meal and
the evening which followed. For unless he was very much mistaken--and
he felt sure that he was not--that envelope he had picked up and handed
to the President was the identical blue linen envelope that had been
stolen with the tan satchel so mysteriously two weeks ago! The size of
it, the feel of it, the daubs of gray sealing-wax--Oh, there was no
mistaking it!
How in thunderation had it come into Cranston's hands?--Cranston, of
all men! Had Cranston pulled off the stunt? Had Podmore been doing
him an injustice? He studied the chief of the Special Service
Department with a new and wide-awake interest. If Cranston had
purloined this packet it was under orders--Wade's, of course. Then
that suspicion which had kept recurring every time he had tried to
think out the mystery of the disappearance was correct. It was a
political move! The opponents of the Government were lining up for the
approaching election with open charges of mal-feasance, graft,--the
same old game! Wade, he knew, had had friction with the present
administration over certain legislation; that was sufficient motive for
him taking a hand, although it was hardly likely that a man of Wade's
standing would allow himself to become involved in such back-alley
tactics--unless--Nickleby--the Interprovincial----!
Podmore's thoughts were not running as clearly as usual. They kept
pocketing themselves provokingly in blind alleys that led nowhere, or
scattering in mazes that led everywhere. There was such a wide field
of speculation open, once he began to consider things from the
political angle, that it was difficult to reach any very definite
conclusion. He was not now so concerned as to the why or the how of
what had happened; the cold analysis of motives and methods was dwarfed
by the one big fact that here on board the private car and within easy
reach was that blessed envelope, containing fifty thousand dollars of
any man's money. For it did not look as if it had been tampered with;
the seals were still unbroken. Right here, within a few yards of where
he sat, was that little old bunch of greenbacks that he had planned so
earnestly to take unto his bosom and that had cost him so many
heartburnings this past two weeks. Talk about luck! Talk about
Opportunity knocking once on somebody's door! Why, the Old Dame was
chopping down his door with an axe!
With his mind in such a chaos of confused emotions Hughey found it
difficult to keep up his end of the conversation and he was not sorry
when the others showed a tendency to turn in early. Once the lights
were dimmed he could hardly wait the reasonable length of time which
must elapse before the other three occupants were asleep, so eager was
he to make his investigations. But at last the snores of Cranston and
the steward and the steady breathing of President Wade satisfied him
that the way was clear.
Quietly he slipped from his berth. He had not undressed, except to
remove his boots and coat, and in two minutes he had the envelope in
his hands. He slipped noiselessly down the aisle to the steward's
kitchen, switched on a light and examined the prize leisurely. He felt
it carefully, hefted it in one hand, then with the aid of a thin-bladed
paring-knife he succeeded in loosening a corner of the flap
sufficiently to allow of a peek at the contents without disturbing the
seals. His involuntary exclamation of satisfaction when he verified
the contents as a package of greenbacks was drowned fortunately in the
hum of the train. It was the missing campaign fund contribution beyond
a doubt.
Back down the dimly lighted aisle with its swaying green curtains, past
the sleepers he slipped noiselessly to the writing desk where he
carefully regummed the corner of the flap, leaving no trace of his
inspection. Then he sank into a leather chair and lit a cigarette with
a cheerful grin on his face.
The Fates certainly were kindness itself. He had it--50,000 bucks! He
actually had it in his pocket! It was enough to give Mr. Podmore a
fine start on his own account somewhere far away. Nickleby and
Alderson? They could go and take a jump in the lake! He had his. It
was a good time to drop out of this game anyway. The political
situation did not look any too good. Well, he would befriend the
Honorable Milt and Ferguson and Nickleby and Alderson by removing this
little piece of election evidence from the reach of their opponents.
That was a service which was cheap at the price.
Yes, it was time to say a final farewell while the farewelling was
good. He hunted up a time-table. They must be somewhere in the
vicinity of Indian Creek by now. Where would the west-bound limited be
at that hour? He glanced at his watch, then flattened his nose against
the window, until his eyes became accustomed to the starlight and he
could watch the dim panorama of spruce trees and lonely little lakes
sliding by in ceaseless procession. Presently he recognized a
flag-station. His guess at Indian Creek as their whereabouts had not
been far astray.
He made his plans quickly. He would drop off, walk to the nearest
station and catch No. 1, westbound, at midnight. That would take him
into the Missinaibi country by daylight, and he could afford to run the
risk of discovery until then. He would leave the train there somewhere
and would find no difficulty in obtaining an outfit and an Indian
guide. They would hit southwest for Lake Superior, and once there he
could find his way across to the Michigan side by night and so away.
Podmore laced his boots rapidly and went through his grip for one or
two articles he thought he might need. He stole back to the kitchen
and put some crackers and cheese in his pockets; it was all he could
find that was not under lock and key. Then with the precious envelope
buttoned tightly inside his coat he picked his way cautiously to the
rear of the swaying car, closed the door carefully behind him and
climbed over the brass rail.
For a moment he hung there, hesitating. Then he let go his hold and
disappeared.