CHAPTER XXVII.
A FRIEND IN NEED
The conductor waited while Grit was searching for his ticket. He was not the same one who started with the train, so that he could not know whether our hero had shown a ticket earlier in the journey.
"I can't find my ticket or my money," said Grit, perplexed.
"Then you will have to leave the train at the next station," said the conductor suspiciously.
"It is very important that I should proceed on my journey," pleaded Grit. "I will give you my name, and send you the money."
"That won't do, youngster," said the conductor roughly. "I have heard of that game before. It won't go down."
"There is no game about it," said Grit. "My ticket and pocketbook have been stolen."
"Of course," sneered the conductor. "Perhaps you can point out the thief."
"No, I can't, for he has left the train. He got out at Exeter."
"Very likely. You can take the next train back and find him."
"Do you doubt that I had a ticket?" asked Grit, nettled by the conductor's evident incredulity.
"Yes, I do, if you want the truth. You want to steal a ride; that's what's the matter."
"That is not true," said Grit. "I am sure some of these passengers have seen me show my ticket. Didn't you, sir?"
He addressed this question to a stout old gentleman who sat in the seat behind him.
"Really, I couldn't say," answered the old gentleman addressed. "I was reading my paper, and didn't take notice."
The conductor looked more incredulous than ever.
"I can't waste any more time with you, young man," he said. "At the next station you must get out."
Grit was very much disturbed. It was not pleasant to be left penniless at a small station, but if he had been left alone he would not have cared so much. But to have the custody of thirty thousand dollars' worth of government bonds, under such circumstances, was certainly embarrassing. He could not get along without money, and for a tramp without money to be in charge of such a treasure was ample cause of suspicion.
What could he do?
The train was already going slower, and it was evident that the next station was near at hand.
Grit was trying in vain to think of some way of securing a continuation of his journey, when a stout, good-looking lady of middle age, who sat just opposite, rose from her seat and seated herself beside him.
"You seem to be in trouble," she said kindly.
"Yes, ma'am," answered Grit. "My ticket and money have been stolen, and the conductor threatens to put me off the train."
"So I heard. Who do you think robbed you?"
"The man who sat beside me and got out at Exeter."
"I noticed him. I wonder you didn't detect him in the act of robbing you."
"So do I," answered Grit. "He must be a professional. All the same, I am ashamed of being so taken in."
"I heard you say it was important for you to reach Boston."
"It is," said Grit.
He was about to explain why, when it occurred to him that it would not be prudent in a crowded car, which might contain suspicious and unprincipled persons, to draw attention to the nature of his packet.
"I can't explain why just at present," he said; "but if any one would lend me money to keep on my journey I would willingly repay the loan two for one."
At this point the train came to a stop, and the conductor, passing through the car, addressed Grit:
"Young man, you must get out at this station."
"No, he needn't," said the stout lady decidedly. "Here, my young friend, pay your fare out of this," and she drew from a pearl portemonnaie a ten-dollar bill.
Grit's heart leaped for joy. It was such an intense relief.
"How can I ever thank you?" he said gratefully, as he offered the change to his new friend.
"No," she said; "keep the whole. You will need it, and you can repay me whenever you find it convenient."
"That will be as soon as I get home," said Grit promptly. "I have the money there."
"That will be entirely satisfactory."
"Let me know your name and address, madam," said Grit, taking out a small memorandum-book, "so that I may know where to send."
"Mrs. Jane Bancroft, No. 37 Mount Vernon Street," said the lady.
Grit noted it down.
"Let me tell you mine," he said. "My name is Harry Morris, and I live in the town of Chester, in Maine."
"Chester? I know that place. I have a cousin living there, or, rather, I should say, a cousin of my late husband."
"Who is it, Mrs. Bancroft?" asked Grit. "I know almost everybody in the village."
"Mr. Courtney. I believe he has something to do with the bank."
"Yes, he is a director. He was once president."
"Exactly. Do you know him?"
"Yes, ma'am. I saw him only a day or two before I left."
"I presume you know his son Philip, also."
"Oh, yes, I know Phil," said Grit.
"Is he a friend of yours?" asked the lady curiously.
"No, I can't say that. We don't care much for each other."
"And whose fault is that?" asked the lady, smiling.
"I don't think it is mine. I have always treated Phil well enough, but he doesn't think me a suitable associate for him."
"Why?"
"Because I am poor, while he is the son of a rich man."
"That is as it may be," said the lady, shrugging her shoulders. "Money sometimes has wings. So you are not rich?"
"I have to work for a living."
"What do you do?"
"I ferry passengers across the Kennebec, and in that way earn a living for my mother and myself."
"Do you make it pay?"
"I earn from seven to ten dollars a week."
"That is doing very well for a boy of your age. What sort of a boy is Phil? Is he popular?"
"I don't think he is."
"Why?"
"He is your nephew, Mrs. Bancroft, and I don't like to criticize him."
"Never mind that. Speak freely."
"He puts on too many airs to be popular. If he would just forget that his father is a rich man, and meet the rest of the boys on an equality, I think we should like him well enough."
"That is just the opinion I have formed of him. Last winter he came to make me a visit, but I found him hard to please. He wanted a great deal of attention, and seemed disposed to order my servants about, till I was obliged to check him."
"I remember hearing him say he was going to visit a rich relative in Boston," said Grit.
Mrs. Bancroft smiled.
"It was all for his own gratification, no doubt," she said. "So your name is Harry Morris?"
"Yes, but I am usually called Grit."
"A good omen. It is a good thing for any boy—especially a poor boy—to possess grit. Most of our successful men were poor boys, and most of them possessed this quality."
"You encourage me, Mrs. Bancroft," said our hero. "I want to succeed in life, for my mother's sake especially."
"I think you will; I have little knowledge of you, but you seem like one born to prosper. How long are you going to stay in Boston?"
"Till to-morrow, at any rate."
"You will be in the city overnight, then. Where did you think of staying?"
"At the Parker House."
"It is an expensive hotel. You had better stay at my house."
"At your house?" exclaimed Grit, surprised.
"Yes; I may want to ask more questions about Chester. We have tea at half-past six. That will give you plenty of time to attend to your business. I shall be at home any time after half-past five. Will you come?"
"With pleasure," said Grit politely.
"Then I will expect you."
Mrs. Bancroft returned to her seat. Our hero mentally congratulated himself on making so agreeable and serviceable a friend.
"What will Phil say when he learns that I have been the guest of his fashionable relatives in Boston?" thought he.
In due time the train reached Boston, and Grit lost no time in repairing to the bank.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE TRAIN ROBBERY
When Grit had delivered the bonds at the bank, a great load seemed to be lifted from his shoulders. Especially after he had been robbed on the train, he realized the degree of risk and responsibility involved in the custody of so valuable a packet.
The officials at the bank seemed surprised at the youth of the messenger, but Grit felt at liberty to explain why he was selected as a substitute for the regular messenger.
Leaving our hero for a time, we go back to Chester to speak of other characters in our story.
Ephraim Carver, the bank messenger, went to the bank at the hour of opening to receive the package of bonds which he expected to convey to Boston. He had no suspicion that his negotiations of a previous evening had been overheard and reported to the president. He felt somewhat nervous, it is true, for he felt that a few hours would make him a rich man. Then the risk involved, though he did not consider it to be great, was yet sufficient to excite him.
He was admitted into the president's room, as usual.
Mr. Graves was already in his office, but his manner was his ordinary one, and the messenger did not dream that the quiet official read him through and through and understood him thoroughly.
"You know, I suppose, Mr. Carver," said President Graves, "that you are to go to Boston by the next train."
"Yes, sir."
"The packet you will carry is of unusual value, and requires an unusual degree of care and caution."
"Yes, sir."
"It contains thirty thousand dollars in government bonds," said the president, laying his hand on the prepared packet, which was in the usual form. "That is a fortune in itself," he added, closely scrutinizing the face of the messenger. He thought he detected a transient gleam of exultation in the eyes of the bank messenger.
"Of course," he proceeded, "if it were known that you carried a packet of such value, there would be great danger of your being robbed. Indeed, you might be in some personal danger."
"Yes, sir."
"But as it is only known to you and the officers of the bank, there is no special danger. Still, I advise you to be more than usually vigilant, on account of the value of your charge."
"Oh, yes, sir, I shall take good care of it," answered Carver, reaching out his hand for the packet.
"Let me see, how long have you been in the employ of the bank?" asked the president.
"Nearly three years, sir."
"You have found it a light, easy position, have you not?"
"Yes, sir, though, if you will allow me to say so, the salary is small."
"True; but the expenses of living in Chester are small, also. However, we will not discuss that question now. Possibly at the end of the year, if they continue satisfied with you, the directors may increase your salary slightly. There cannot be a large increase."
"I may not need an increase then," thought Carver. "With five thousand dollars to fall back upon, I shall feel independent."
"You will report to me when you return," said Mr. Graves, as the messenger left the bank parlor.
"Yes, sir, directly."
The president fixed his eyes upon the vanishing figure of the messenger, and said to himself:
"My friend, you have deliberately planned your own downfall. Greed of money has made you dishonest, but your plans are destined to miscarry, as this time to-morrow you and your confederates will be made aware."
"Now," thought the bank messenger, as he bent his steps toward the railway station, "the path is clear. Here is what will completely change my fortunes, and lift me from an humble dependent to a comfortable position in life."
Then he thought, with some dissatisfaction, that he was to receive but one-sixth of the value of the bonds, and that the man who employed him to betray his trust would be much more richly paid. However, in his case, there would be no risk of being personally implicated. No one could prove that he had allowed himself to be robbed. Even if suspicion fastened upon him, nothing could be proved. So, on the whole, perhaps it was better to be content with one-sixth than to incur greater risk, and the dread penalty of imprisonment for a term of years.
On the railroad platform Carver glanced furtively about him. He easily recognized Brandon and Travers, who stood side by side, each having provided himself with a ticket. They on their side also glanced swiftly at him, and then turned away with a look of indifference. But they had not failed to notice the important packet which the bank messenger carried in his hand.
"It is all right!" was the thought that passed through their minds.
There was another passenger waiting for the train, whom they did not notice. He was a small, quiet, unpretentious-looking man, attired in a suit of pepper and salt, and looked like a retail merchant in a small way, going to Portland or Boston, to order goods. They would have been very much startled had they known that it was a Boston detective, who had been telegraphed for by Mr. Graves, and that his special business was to follow them and observe their actions.
When the train reached the station Carver got in, and took a seat by himself in the second car. Just behind him sat the two confederates, Brandon and Travers, and in line with them, on the opposite side of the car, sat the quiet man, whom we will call Denton.
Ten minutes before the train reached Portland Ephraim Carver left his seat, and very singularly forgot to take the parcel, of which he had special custody, with him. It was a remarkable piece of forgetfulness, truly.
But his oversight was not unobserved. Travers sprang from his seat, took the parcel, and following the messenger overtook him at the door of the car.
He tapped Carver on the shoulder, and the latter turned round.
"I beg pardon," said Travers, "but you left this on the seat."
As he spoke he handed a packet to Carver.
"A thousand thanks!" said the messenger hurriedly. "I was very careless. I am very much indebted to you."
"I thought the packet might contain something valuable," said Travers.
"At any rate, I should not like to lose it," said the messenger, who appeared to be properly on his guard.
"Oh, don't mention it," said Travers politely, and he walked back and resumed his seat beside Brandon.
The quiet man, to whom we have already referred, noted this little piece of acting with a smile of enjoyment.
"Very well done, good people," he said to himself. "It ought to succeed, but it won't."
His sharp eyes had detected what the other passengers had not—that Travers had skilfully substituted another package for the one he had picked up from the seat vacated by Carver.
Carver passed on into the next car, and Denton now concentrated his attention upon Brandon and Travers.
He noticed in both traces of joyful excitement, for which he could easily account. They thought they had succeeded, and each mentally congratulated himself on the acquisition of a neat little fortune.
"They will get out at Portland," thought Denton, "and take account of their booty. I should like to be there to see, but I am instructed to follow my friend the bank messenger to Boston, and must, therefore, forego the pleasure."
At Portland, Brandon and Travers got out of the cars, and took a hack to the Falmouth Hotel.
They went to the office, and, calling for the hotel register, carefully scanned the list of arrivals.
The afternoon previous they found entered the name of Colonel Johnson.
"Is Colonel Johnson in?" asked Brandon.
"We will ascertain," was the reply.
The bell-boy who was despatched to inquire returned with the message that Colonel Johnson would see the gentlemen.
They followed the attendant to a room on the third floor, where they found their employer pacing the room in visible excitement.
"Give me the parcel," he said, in a peremptory tone.
He cut the strings, and hastily opened the coveted prize.
But his eager look was succeeded by black disappointment, as, instead of the bonds, he saw a package of blank paper of about the same shape and size.
"Confusion!" he ejaculated; "what does all this mean? What devil's mess have you made of the business?"
CHAPTER XXIX.
THE CONSPIRATORS ARE PERPLEXED
Johnson's hasty exclamation was heard with blank amazement by his two confederates.
"What do you mean, Colonel? Ain't the bonds there?" asked Travers.
"Do you call these bonds?" demanded Johnson savagely, as he pointed to the neatly folded brown paper. "You must have brought back your own parcel, and left the genuine one with the bank messenger."
"No," said Travers, shaking his head; "our package was filled with old newspapers. This is different."
"It is evidently only a dummy. Was it the only parcel Carver had?"
"Yes, it was the only one."
"Is it possible the villain has fooled us?" said Johnson, frowning ominously. "If he has, we'll get even with him—I swear it!"
"I don't know what to think, colonel," said Travers. "You can tell better than I, for you saw him about this business."
"He didn't seem like it, for he caught at my suggestion greedily. There's another possibility," added Johnson, after a pause, with a searching glance at his two confederates. "How do I know but you two have secured the bonds, and palmed off this dummy upon me?"
Both men hastily disclaimed doing anything of the kind, and Johnson was forced to believe them, not from any confidence he felt in them, but from his conviction that they were not astute enough to think of any such treachery.
"This must be looked into," he said slowly. "There has been treachery somewhere. It lies between you and the messenger, though I did not dream that either would be up to such a thing."
"You don't think the bank people did it, do you?" suggested Brandon.
"I don't know," said Johnson slowly. "I can't understand how they could learn what was in the wind, unless one of you three blabbed."
Of course, Travers and Brandon asseverated stoutly that they had not breathed a word to any third party.
Johnson was deeply perplexed, and remained silent for five minutes.
At length he announced his decision.
"We can do nothing, and decide upon nothing," he said, "till we see Carver. He went on to Boston, I conclude?"
"Yes, sir."
"He will be back to-morrow. We must watch the trains, and intercept him."
Leaving this worthy trio in Portland, we follow Ephraim Carver to Boston. As the cars sped on their way, he felt an uneasy excitement as he thought of his treachery, and he feared he should look embarrassed when he was called to account by the Boston bank officials. But there was a balm in the thought of the substantial sum he was to receive as the reward of his wrongdoing. That, he thought, would well repay him for the bad quarter of an hour he would pass in Boston.
"Five thousand dollars! Five thousand dollars!" This was the burden of his thoughts as he considered the matter. "It will make me independent. If I can keep my post, I will, and I can then afford to be faithful to the bank. If they discharge me, I will move away, for my living without work, and having money to spend, would attract suspicion if I continued to live in Chester. Somewhere else I can go into business for myself. I might stock a small dry-goods store, for instance. I must inquire into the chances of making a living at that business."
So, in spite of his treachery, Ephraim Carver, on the whole, indulged in pleasing reflections, so that the railroad journey seemed short.
Arrived in Boston, he found that he had just time to go to the bank and deliver his parcel within banking hours.
"I may as well do it, and have it over with," he said to himself.
So, with a return of nervousness, which he tried to conceal by outward indifference, he made his way to the bank to which he was commissioned.
He had been there before, and was recognized when he entered.
He was at once conducted into the presence of the president.
To him he delivered the parcel of bonds.
"That will do, Mr. Carver," said the president. "You may go outside while I examine them."
He was ushered into the ordinary room, and waited five minutes. He was trying to brace himself for an outburst of surprise, perhaps of stormy indignation, and searching cross-examination, when the president presented himself at the door of his private office.
"That will do," he said. "You can go, Mr. Carver."
Carver stared at him in blank amazement. This was precisely what he did not expect.
"Have you examined the bonds?" he asked.
"Of course," answered the president.
"And you find them all right?" continued the messenger, with irrepressible surprise.
"I suppose so," answered the president. "I will examine more carefully presently."
"Then you don't wish me to stay?" inquired Carver.
"No; there is no occasion to do so."
Ephraim Carver left the bank in a state of stupefaction.
"What can it all mean?" he asked himself. "The man must be blind as a bat if he didn't discover that the package contained no bonds. I don't believe he opened it at all."
So Carver was left in a state of uncertainty. On the whole he wished that the substitution had been discovered, so that the president could have had it out with him. Now he felt that a sword was impending over his head, which might fall at any time. This was unpleasant, for he did not know what to expect.
He went back to Portland by a late train, however, as he had arranged to do.
At the depot he met Colonel Johnson. He was puzzled to find that Johnson did not look as jubilant as he anticipated, now that their plot had succeeded. On the other hand, he looked grave and stern.
"Well, colonel, how goes it?" he asked.
"That is for you to say," returned Johnson. "You have seen Brandon and Travers, I suppose?"
"Yes, I have seen them."
"Then it's all right, and the parcel is in your hands."
"He takes it pretty coolly," thought Johnson. "I can't understand what it means. I must get to the bottom of this thing. Well, how did they take it at the bank?" he added, aloud. "Did they make any fuss?"
"No," answered the bank messenger. Johnson was surprised.
"They didn't question you about the parcel you brought them?"
"No; they told me it was all right, and let me go."
"Then they must have got the bonds," said Johnson hastily.
"What! haven't you got them?" asked the messenger, in genuine surprise.
"No," said Johnson bitterly. "The fools brought me a package stuffed with sheets of brown paper."
Carver stared at him in open-mouthed amazement.
"I don't understand it," he said. "I can't account for any parcel of the kind."
"They couldn't have made the exchange at all. This must have been their own parcel."
"No," said Carver; "theirs was stuffed with old newspapers."
"That was what they said."
"They told the truth. I helped them make up the parcel myself."
"Then it must have been their parcel that is now in the hands of the bank."
"It seems likely."
"Then where are the bonds?" demanded Johnson sternly.
"That is more than I can tell," said the bank messenger, in evident perplexity.
"It's enough to make a man tear his hair to have such a promising scheme miscarry," said Johnson gloomily. "I wish I could lay my finger on the man that's responsible for it."
"I can't understand it at all, colonel. We followed out your instructions to the letter. Everything went off smoothly."
"Can you tell me where are the bonds?" interrupted Johnson harshly.
"No, I can't."
"Then you may as well be silent."
"I will follow your directions," said Carver submissively. "What do you wish me to do?"
Johnson reflected a moment. Finally he said:
"Take the earliest morning train to Chester. I will stay here. So will the other two men."
"Anything further?"
"Only this: Keep your eyes and ears open when you get home. If you hear anything that will throw light on this affair, write or telegraph, or send a special messenger, so that I may act promptly on your information. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir. Your directions shall be followed. I am as anxious as you are to find out why we failed."