THE CUSTOM-HOUSE DETECTIVE.
As has already been mentioned, Leonard Lester was an experienced
yachtman. He had for years belonged to a boating club in New York,
and the knowledge and experience he had thus gained proved of great
practical value in the situation in which he found himself after
escaping from the underground retreat of the supposed smugglers.
The yacht he had taken possession of proved to be of good build and
excellent sailing qualities. In the course of half an hour Rocky Beach
was left several miles behind, and all danger of successful pursuit was
for the time being past.
Leonard now conceived the idea of making for the port of Boston. New
York would have suited him better, but was too far off.
The sky was clear, the wind was fresh and steady, and no sudden storm
or squall seemed likely to arise. The condition could not have been
more favorable.
So, calculating his bearings as nearly as possible, he guided his
craft in what he deemed the proper direction. The voyage was without
noteworthy incident――in fact, it was rather monotonous. Soon after
daybreak he had the satisfaction of beholding the spires of the distant
city, and about ten o’clock he entered the harbor.
Before approaching the crowd of ships that lay near the wharfs and
docks, he bethought himself to examine the yacht thoroughly, and see if
he could discover any clew to ownership, or the movements of those who
had so recently had it in their possession.
His search resulted in his finding nothing but two cards in a small
locker. One of these was printed, and read as follows:
JACOB RUSH.
_9 ―――― Street, Jersey City._
On the other was written, in a scrawling hand: “32 Main street, Dalton.”
These he decided, with a purpose which will appear hereafter, to leave
where he had found them.
Then, setting sail directly for the city, he sought a convenient place
for landing.
He was accosted by no one save a man in a small boat, who proved to be
a custom-house officer. The man asked him some questions, scanned the
yacht closely, and then moved off again, satisfied that he was not a
runner in of smuggled goods.
Leonard selected a vacant place alongside a low dock, and springing
ashore, made his boat fast by a rope.
He looked around him, and saw in the long line of dingy buildings a
narrow alley. Through this he made his way, and soon emerged into a
busy wholesale street.
His first step was to proceed to a barber’s shop and have his mustache
shaved off. Then he purchased a hat and coat of different patterns from
those he had been wearing, and donned them. The garments of which he
divested himself he tied in a bundle and carried in his hand.
These transactions occupied but little time; they were for the purpose
of avoiding ready recognition, for he remembered Snags’ assertion that
he was regarded as an accomplice in Carlos’ supposed crime, and it was
possible that his appearance and dress had already been telegraphed to
officers who might be on the lookout for him.
Next he found his way to the custom-house, and inquired of one of the
clerks for the superintendent, or some person in authority.
The clerk silently pointed to a man seated within an inclosure of
railing. The man was busily engaged with some papers, and scarcely
looked up as Leonard accosted him.
“Can I have a few words with you, sir?”
“Yes,” was the reply, delivered with the air of one whose time was
precious.
“I presume there is a secret detective service connected with this
department?”
“Yes.”
“Can you direct me to some reliable, shrewd person engaged in that
service?”
The man slowly turned a pair of dull-looking eyes full on Leonard. Yet
it was evident that the owner of those dull-looking eyes was accustomed
to reading character and forming prompt conclusions. He withdrew his
gaze after a moment, and said:
“Second story. Inquire for Mr. Stark.”
He then turned to his work again, and was apparently oblivious of his
surroundings.
Leonard proceeded as directed, and found Mr. Stark alone in a small
room. The room was compact, neat, and orderly in appearance. On
one side was a telegraphic apparatus, and on the other was a desk,
surmounted by a case of pigeon-holes, containing letters and papers
tied up in bundles. There was a couch and two chairs in the room. One
window looked upon the street, and a closed door concealed an adjoining
apartment.
Mr. Stark was a man small in stature and unpretending in aspect. His
face was smooth, with thin lips, a firm-set mouth, and cool, gray eyes.
He was dressed with neat precision.
“Mr. Stark?” inquired Leonard.
“Yes, sir.”
“You are, I believe, connected with the secret detective service.”
“I am.”
“Can I confer with you in reference to engaging your services?”
“My services are not exactly open for engagement,” said Mr. ♦Stark,
smiling. “I am in the employ of the government.”
“Pardon me,” said Leonard. “Perhaps I did not put the case as I should.
There is a matter that interests the government――a smuggling case, I am
convinced――but it requires to be managed with caution.”
“We are accustomed to manage things with caution,” was Mr. Stark’s
reply.
“Certainly――I am aware of that――but this case is so complicated with an
affair of an entirely different character――and in which I have a deep
personal interest――that I must be exceedingly cautious as to whom I
take in my confidence.”
“If you know anything, young man,” rejoined Mr. Stark, “about the
illegal running in of any foreign goods, it is your duty to reveal such
knowledge.”
“That may be,” replied Leonard; “but I have other duties, too. One
of them is self-protection. Another is to look out for my friends.
I must be assured of the hearty co-operation of whoever I take into
my confidence, in an endeavor to solve a mystery on which hangs the
life of a near and dear relative, as well as to bring to justice these
supposed smugglers. The two cases cannot be separated――they must be
investigated conjointly. And it may take time.”
“You speak with a good deal of self-confidence, sir. May I ask who you
are?”
Leonard handed him his card, and then asked:
“Do you know the firm of Duncan & Mishler, New York?”
“Yes――an importing house. You don’t mean to say that they are the
parties?”
“Bless you, no!” exclaimed Leonard. “They are as straight as a string.
I am connected with that firm.”
“Let me see,” said Stark, opening a large book, consulting an index,
and turning to a particular page. “Yes――Duncan & Mishler――Leonard
Lester, European agent. Well, I guess, if you are connected with that
firm, you can trust me. Go on with your story.”
“It must be confidential, and no steps must be taken without consulting
me.”
“I agree to that.”
“And do you promise not to reveal my identity, or my presence in
Boston?”
“I promise. But you are very cautious.”
“You will see that I have reason to be.”
Leonard thereupon narrated to Mr. Stark the journey of himself and
Carlos to Dalton, of their visit, their interview with Colonel Conrad,
his own excursion to Rocky Beach, the departure of Carlos in an
opposite direction to attend a concert, the capture of himself by Snags,
his subsequent experience in the cave, and his escape. He concluded by
saying:
“My cousin is now doubtless in jail. The evidence would probably be
sufficient to hold him for trial, whether it finally convicted him
or not. Snags is the guilty man, though my evidence might not be
sufficient to establish that. But he had some object other than robbery.
This is proved by his anxiety in regard to the missing fragment of
paper. He spoke of a ‘boss’ to whom both he and Roake were subordinate.
Who this ‘boss’ is, is the mystery. He is undoubtedly the chief guilty
party; for Snags and Roake are not the men to push smuggled goods on
the market.”
“No, you are right there. And in regard to the murder, I agree with you
in thinking that it was done for some motive that does not appear on
the surface.”
“And, by the way, those cards in the locker of the yacht,” said Leonard;
“do you know anything of Jacob Rush, of Jersey City?”
“No, but I will inside of twenty-four hours.”
“Thirty-two Main street, Dalton, which was written on the other card,
is, as I mentioned, the address of Geoffrey Haywood’s place of business.
I remember the large gilded sign very well. You don’t suppose _that_
villain has anything to do with the smuggling business, do you?”
“I don’t know, I am sure. Every clew is worth following up. Why did you
leave the cards in the boat, instead of bringing them with you?”
“For two reasons. First, I thought I would leave the yacht in your
charge, and let you advertise for an owner, stating that the cards were
found in the locker, and mentioning the addresses on them. Some one
implicated ♦might then appear to claim it. Second, the taking of the
cards would betray the fact that interested parties had the boat in
charge. For who would go to the trouble of taking them except somebody
that regarded them as of special significance?”
“Well, you are partly right. I will advertise the yacht, but will say
nothing about the cards. That might put the parties on their guard.
We will let them think they have not been noticed. If the right person
answers the advertisement, you may be sure that he will search for
them when he comes to examine the boat. And I’ll have all his movements
watched.”
“Perhaps,” said Leonard, “we can kill two birds with one stone――capture
both the murderer and the smugglers.”
“We’ll try,” replied Mr. Stark. “And now, what do you propose to do
next?”
“I want to go to New York, and see my employers, Duncan & Mishler.”
“But not as you are.”
“Why not?”
“Because, if you are regarded as an accomplice in the murder of Colonel
Conrad, you may be arrested at any moment. Your description is probably
in the hands of officers now.”
“True. But what is to be done?”
“I’ll disguise you. If I am not mistaken you have taken some steps in
that direction already. You have had your mustache shaved off, and you
are wearing strange clothes.”
“How do you know?” exclaimed Leonard, in astonishment.
“You move your upper lip nervously, as if experiencing an unusual
sensation, and the coat and hat you have on are new. Besides, there is
that bundle under your arm.”
“You are right,” said Leonard, “but I never would have dreamed――――”
“Oh, never mind. We have to train our observing faculties. You won’t do
at all, now. I’ll fix you.”
And he conducted Leonard into the room adjoining his office.
When they returned Leonard was transformed into a sanctimonious-looking
individual, with gray side-whiskers and hair, a pair of silver-bowed
spectacles, a long, well-worn coat, and a hat of the last season’s
pattern.
“There!” said Mr. Stark, admiringly, “I’ll risk you anywhere. If
anything unlooked-for happens, you are the Reverend Mr. Withers, living
at No. ―――― 12th street, New York. Here, take this cane and volume of
commentaries. Ha! ha! you look like a natural-born missionary!”
At this moment there was a knock at the door.
“What’s wanted?” demanded Mr. Stark.
“Here’s your morning paper, sir,” came in a boy’s voice.
“Why didn’t you bring it in sooner?” asked Mr. Stark, opening the door.
“The clerks were reading it, sir.”
“Couldn’t they find anything else to do?”
Without waiting for an answer, he closed the door in the boy’s face,
and then ran his eyes down the column of telegraphic reports.
Suddenly he turned to Leonard.
“You say you last heard from your cousin through Mr. Snags, on the day
the examination was in progress.”
“Yes,” replied Leonard.
“Read that.”
Leonard took the paper, and, at a spot indicated by Mr. Stark’s thumb,
saw among the latest dispatches the following paragraph:
“HILLSDALE, Aug. 29.――Charles Conrad, charged with the murder
of Col. Wm. Conrad, of Dalton, made his escape while coming here
on the cars last night in charge of a constable. He is slightly
below the medium height, with blue eyes and a light mustache.
A large reward is offered for his capture.”
Leonard stared at these words in dumb amazement. He read them over
twice before speaking. Then he turned to Mr. Stark.
“What is to be done?” he asked.
“Nothing, by you,” replied the gentleman, quite composed, “except
to give me a very particular and exact description of his personal
appearance.”
Leonard having given the desired description, Mr. Stark said:
“Now leave everything to me for a short time. My chance of capturing
your cousin is as good as that of any one else. I’ll send telegrams to
some of my associates, and he may come to no harm. But whatever may be
the result, you can do nothing. Remember that, and go on to New York.
Of course you must tell Duncan & Mishler everything, and I hope they
are discreet men. It might be well for you to drop around to No. ――――
12th street to-morrow morning, and, if I have occasion to communicate
with you, you will find a message there for the Reverend Mr. Withers.
They’ll know you. And now, good-day. I have other business on hand.
I think the next train will bring you to New York about eight o’clock
this evening.”
Leonard passed out of Mr. Stark’s office, went down stairs and into the
street, and made his way to the railroad depot.
He took the train for New York, where he arrived in due time. Here a
great surprise awaited him.