THE dispatch was very interesting indeed. I was about to go down and
show the telegram to Hiram, the contents of which would astonish him
more than it did me, at least cheer him up a bit, but when I reached the
street something happened to intensify my interest in Becker & Co. I ran
into a man I very much wanted to talk with.
"Taylor, you are just the man I want to see," said he. "Come to lunch
with me." It was the chief's assistant who grabbed me by the arm and led
me into a nearby restaurant.
"I have just left the chief," the assistant continued, after we had
seated ourselves, "and he has given me a hard nut to crack; complaints
have piled up from wholesale and retail dealers that bad meat, hams and
lard--even horse-meat--have appeared in this market, which bear the
genuine stamps and tags of the Bureau of Animal Industry, and it has
started a devil of a row," he whispered across the table. "You are still
working on that car robbery case, and I thought you might pick up
something for me. Who is Becker & Co.?" He ended by asking this question
so suddenly that I could scarcely conceal my astonishment.
"I know there is a concern by that name, with a plant up the river
somewhere. They are quite heavy shippers," I replied easily.
"You can get the freight records and perhaps give me a line on their
operations, can't you?"
I knew then that Becker & Co. had been mentioned in some of the
complaints. Before parting I promised to have some information for him
by the next morning.
I spent the rest of the afternoon obtaining commercial reports on them
and making arrangements to have their mail censored, and I did not reach
my room until dinner time.
The door was open as usual between our rooms. Glancing into the other
room, I saw Hiram lying on his bed asleep, which was something unusual
for him, and there was something about his color that drew my attention
at once. He did not stir when I came alongside the bed.
He was lying on his back with his head comfortably pillowed and his
arms relaxed at his sides like a corpse. His face was bloodless, and his
high, wavy black hair intensified by the white pillow. It reminded me of
the time I saw him in the hospital at Hampton, Virginia, after his
fearful experience in firing on the steamer; but his body had now filled
out and was even athletic.
He was either very tired or--or had he lapsed into drink again--or was
it drugs?
Though usually a light sleeper, my touch on his wrist did not arouse
him; his pulse was regular, and bending low, I could not detect the
fumes of liquor. No, Hiram Strong, Jr., was just tired out--worried into
fatigue that called for sleep. He was going through the fire that either
refines or destroys. Would he stand it? That was my anxiety as I
returned to my room to prepare for dinner.
"Ben, is that you?" he called presently in a sleepy voice.
For answer I came to the door, wiping my hands and looking interested.
"I fell asleep waiting for you to come, Ben. I want to tell you that I
acted the damned cad this morning." Then coming over, he put two strong
hands on my shoulders and looked straight at me with clear eyes.
"Ben," he continued, as though suddenly realizing he was taking himself
too seriously, "I know you are on the square with me, I know you are
doing everything you can for me, but your movements are maddeningly
deliberate. You act as though you were an old-stager at the game and was
going sure. But I feel like I was bound hand and foot with these fellows
darting javelins into my skin every time they look at me; and you know I
can't see Anna Bell Morgan until----" He dropped his hands from my
shoulders and looked out of the window. "Perhaps I am expecting too
much--you cleaned up that Quarryville matter so----"
"But, Hiram, this is a big matter, reaching God only knows how far. It
involves a number of men, clever in crookedness, and perhaps women.
There's more to it than a bone-headed, love-sick German and a case of
dynamite. The amounts involved are big, and it must move slowly. I know
how you feel, but you've got to grin and bear it. But about Anna Bell
Morgan, I think you are foolish. If she is the kind of girl you should
marry she would want very much to stand by you. But if you adopt a
drastic code of your own and insist on living up to it, how can she or
any one help you in that respect?"
"Ben," he began deliberately, after taking a chair and cocking himself
back against the window-sill, "I know that Anna Bell Morgan wants to
help me. I am nursing the delusion, perhaps, that she would give one of
her hands--make any sacrifice--but I don't believe a real man, under
similar circumstances, would bid for help from the woman whom he really
loves. If this thought proves a delusion I must stand it somehow, but I
don't believe I will ever have faith in a woman again. I am beginning to
see things differently now. I can see more and more why the Gold-Beater
was given that name by friend and enemy. He fought fair and in the open
and took punishment without a whimper. Ben, he made a mistake with me,
but he gave me a decent sense of honor, and lately I realize he has
given me a good-sized body that will stand real punishment. No, sir, my
'drastic code,' as you call it, has got to go. And now, with that out of
my system, I am going to give you a real shock."
Then, with exasperating deliberation, he lighted his pipe, drew his
feet up on the lower front rungs of his chair, meanwhile watching me as
I walked back and forth before him intensely interested.
"I am going to quit the railroad and----"
"No, you are not--not now----" I warned. But he interrupted me as I
paused in front of him, pointing a finger at him, and I soon saw that I
might as well have raised my arm to stay the flood of Niagara.
"I expected you to protest until----"
"But they will think----"
"I don't care a damn what they think now. I've got to do it and you've
got to help me," he said with set jaw.
"But just now that would be suicide----"
"No--not after I explain--I don't intend to run away--I am going to stay
right here the remainder of my life if necessary and clear this thing
up; I've got to. But I can't do it working all day until I'm woozy. Now,
you have got to help me."
"But I think you are hasty----"
"You won't think so after I have stated my case. I am going to
constitute you the court, attorney for the prosecution and defense, and
the jury; in fact, give you all constitutional rights except my right
of appeal; that will enable a quick decision and that's what I'm after
right now--before we go to dinner," he ended with his wonderfully
contagious smile that seemed impossible only a few minutes ago.
He continued to sit cocked back in his chair against the window-sill
with his legs drawn up so his feet rested on the lower rungs, blowing
smoke at me, as I paced back and forth before him across the room.
"Well--go ahead," I said finally.
"First let me tell you why you've got to help me. You have the know-how
and more general experience, and can do it. I take it you are 'in right'
in New Orleans. You can help me when you are helping yourself. I believe
in you thoroughly--except--except perhaps when you go off on a little
tangent, like you did when you put that barrel of iron filings in
storage, and made me pay half----" He hesitated, smiling broadly. I did
not reply, and he continued, "but even that has its advantages, because
it makes me smile whenever I think of it and that's worth something. And
that brings me to the second reason why you must help me. There is
something about your long nose that seems to smell out things pretty
well, your general attitude toward me and everything, that awakens a
sense of humor. If they put me in jail, and you come to see me, I
believe I could see the humorous side of that, even. Now do you
understand?" he asked, relieved and confident.
"I am waiting to hear why you propose to resign," I insisted, ignoring
his complimentary terms as directed toward me.
"I'll make that short enough--as long as I stay at work there I don't
have time or ginger to do anything else. I believe that Becker is the
head of the stealing--I have got several tips lately and I believe he's
the man. Several train-men, who learned I was in trouble, informed me
that his place up the river is queer. In ordinary water it is an island,
between the track and the river, the switch running to it over piles,
and several times when they rode cars into his unloading doors they have
seen things they believe will bear investigation. But it's going to be
hard to get into the old fox's place. He receives by rail from here and
the north, too, but ships out everything by an old boat on the river."
"Now"--hesitated Hiram shrewdly--"that car of sausage that was short
the other night sat on track One--exactly opposite two cars that were
loaded for him on track Two. The space between cars on those two tracks
is so narrow that I was nearly killed one day between them; the time
between the arrival of the sausage car and the departure of his cars was
only a little more than half an hour, but it was between 2:30 and 3:30
a. m., when no one was there, and I believe the transfer was made in
that time--do you follow me?"
"Yes--go ahead. But what about the three seals being intact when you
opened the car?"
"I knew you would ask that--but I believe, with help from those 'higher
up,' and the seals could be had--stolen of course. There are two hard
nuts to crack; one is the seals, and the other is to get into his
place--and that's where you must help."
"Now here is another funny thing." Hiram hesitated to bring from his hip
pocket an envelope. "Some one who knew my full name sent this to me,
care of the office," and he read from a typewritten slip of paper,
"Why does Becker & Co. get freight by rail and ship out only by water?"
I stopped in front of him and reached for the slip to examine it
critically.
"Hiram--let me keep this?" It looked like railroad stationery.
"Yes--help yourself."
"Have you any plan to get into Becker & Co.'s plant?" I asked, recalling
that I had not mentioned that I suspected them, and that this was the
third definite lead in that direction.
"He is a foxy old rat and would take any ordinary bait off a trap and
send it to you by mail. The only thing I can think of is a boat--maybe I
didn't tell you it is a fertilizer plant and uses lots of dead animals.
With a boat to take him some of this stock, one might finally get to
carrying his river freight at a cut price and that would open the door
wide."
"But boats that will carry even a little freight are scarce now."
"Yes, I know that--but we've got to have a boat. Buy it, build it, or
dig one out of the mud somewhere."
"You have made out a pretty good case, Hiram. I will think it over--in
the meantime this may interest you," I said, handing him the telegram I
had received from the chemist. Though half fearing it a joke, he sprang
from his chair and took it eagerly.