“I will stay here about ten minutes longer. Then, if no one comes, I will give it up for to- night.”
The time was nearly up when his quick ear caught a low murmur of voices. Instantly he was on the alert. Waiting till the sound came nearer, he ventured to raise his head for an instant above the top of the wall.
His heart beat with excitement when he saw two figures approaching. Though it was so dark, he recognized them by their size and outlines. They were Julius Gibbon, the bookkeeper, and Phil Stark, the stranger staying at the hotel.
Carl watched closely, raising his head for a few seconds at a time above the wall, ready to lower it should either glance in his direction. But neither of the men did so. Ignorant that they were suspected, it was the farthest possible from their thoughts that anyone would be on the watch.
Presently they came so near that Carl could hear their voices.
“I wish it was over,” murmured Gibbon, nervously.
“Don't worry,” said his companion. “There is no occasion for haste. Everybody in Milford is in bed and asleep, and we have several hours at our disposal.”
“You must remember that my reputation is at stake. This night's work may undo me.”
“My friend, you can afford to take the chances. Haven't I agreed to give you half the bonds?”
“I shall be suspected, and shall be obliged to stand my ground, while you will disappear from the scene.”
“Two thousand dollars will pay you for some inconvenience. I don't see why you should be suspected. You will be supposed to be fast asleep on your virtuous couch, while some bad burglar is robbing your worthy employer. Of course you will be thunderstruck when in the morning the appalling discovery is made. I'll tell you what will be a good dodge for you.”
“Well?”
“Offer a reward of a hundred dollars from your own purse for the discovery of the villain who has robbed the safe and abstracted the bonds.”
Phil Stark burst out into a loud guffaw as he uttered these words.
“Hush!” said Gibbon, timidly. “I thought I heard some one moving.”
“What a timid fool you are!” muttered Stark, contemptuously. “If I had no more pluck, I'd hire myself out to herd cows.”
“It's a better business,” said Gibbon, bitterly.
“Well, well, each to his taste! If you lose your place as bookkeeper, you might offer your services to some farmer. As for me, the danger, though there isn't much, is just enough to make it exciting.”
“I don't care for any such excitement,” said Gibbon, dispiritedly. “Why couldn't you have kept away and let me earn an honest living?”
“Because I must live as well as you, my dear friend. When this little affair is over, you will thank me for helping you to a good thing.”
Of course all this conversation did not take place within Carl's hearing. While it was going on, the men had opened the office door and entered. Then, as Carl watched the window closely he saw a narrow gleam of light from a dark lantern illuminating the interior.
“Now they are at the safe,” thought Carl.
We, who are privileged, will enter the office and watch the proceedings.
Gibbon had no difficulty in opening the safe, for he was acquainted with the combination. Stark thrust in his hand eagerly and drew out the box.
“This is what we want,” he said, in a tone of satisfaction. “Have you a key that will open it?”
“No.”
“Then I shall have to take box and all.”
“Let us get through as soon as possible,” said Gibbon, uneasily.
“You can close the safe, if you want to. There is nothing else worth taking?”
“No.”
“Then we will evacuate the premises. Is there an old newspaper I can use to wrap up the box in? It might look suspicious if anyone should see it in our possession.”
“Yes, here is one.”
He handed a copy of a weekly paper to Phil Stark, who skillfully wrapped up the box, and placing it under his arm, went out of the office, leaving Gibbon to follow.
“Where will you carry it?” asked Gibbon.
“Somewhere out of sight where I can safely open it. I should have preferred to take the bonds, and leave the box in the safe. Then the bonds might not have been missed for a week or more.”
“That would have been better.”
That was the last that Carl heard. The two disappeared in the darkness, and Carl, raising himself from his place of concealment, stretched his cramped limbs and made the best of his way home. He thought no one would be up, but Mr. Jennings came out from the sitting-room, where he had flung himself on a lounge, and met Carl in the hall.
“Well?” he said.
“The safe has been robbed.”
“Who did it?” asked the manufacturer, quickly.
“The two we suspected.”
“Did you see Mr. Gibbon, then?”
“Yes; he was accompanied by Mr. Stark.”
“You saw them enter the factory?”
“Yes, sir; I was crouching behind the stone wall on the other side of the road.”
“How long were they inside?”
“Not over fifteen minutes--perhaps only ten.”
“Mr. Gibbon knew the combination,” said Jennings, quietly. “There was no occasion to lose time in breaking open the safe. There is some advantage in having a friend inside. Did you see them go out?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Carrying the tin box with them?”
“Yes, sir. Mr. Stark wrapped it in a newspaper after they got outside.”
“But you saw the tin box?”
“Yes.”
“Then, if necessary, you can testify to it. I thought it possible that Mr. Gibbon might have a key to open it.”
“I overheard Stark regretting that he could not open it so as to abstract the bonds and leave the box in the safe. In that case, he said, it might be some time before the robbery was discovered.”
“He will himself make an unpleasant discovery when he opens the box. I don't think there is any call to pity him, do you, Carl?”
“No, sir. I should like to be within sight when he opens it.”
The manufacturer laughed quietly.
“Yes,” he said; “if I could see it I should feel repaid for the loss of the box. Let it be a lesson for you, my boy. Those who seek to enrich themselves by unlawful means are likely in the end to meet with disappointment.”
“Do you think I need the lesson?” asked Carl, smiling.
“No, my lad. I am sure you don't. But you do need a good night's rest. Let us go to bed at once, and get what sleep we may. I won't allow the burglary to keep me awake.”
He laughed in high good humor, and Carl went up to his comfortable room, where he soon lost all remembrance of the exciting scene of which he had been a witness.
Mr. Jennings went to the factory at the usual time the next morning.
As he entered the office the bookkeeper approached him pale and excited.
“Mr. Jennings,” he said, hurriedly, “I have bad news for you.”
“What is it, Mr. Gibbon?”
“When I opened the safe this morning, I discovered that the tin box had been stolen.”
Mr. Jennings took the news quietly.
“Have you any suspicion who took it?” he asked.
“No, sir. I--I hope the loss is not a heavy one.”
“I do not care to make the extent of the loss public. Were there any marks of violence? Was the safe broken open?”
“No, sir.”
“Singular; is it not?”
“If you will allow me I will join in offering a reward for the discovery of the thief. I feel in a measure responsible.”
“I will think of your offer, Mr. Gibbon.”
“He suspects nothing,” thought Gibbon, with a sigh of relief.
CHAPTER XXV.
STARK'S DISAPPOINTMENT
PHILIP STARK went back to the hotel with the tin box un
der his arm. He would like to have entered the hotel without notice, but this was impossible, for the landlord's nephew was just closing up. Though not late for the city, it was very late for the country, and he looked surprised when Stark came in.
“I am out late,” said Stark, with a smile.
“Yes.”
“That is, late for Milford. In the city I never go to bed before midnight.”
“Have you been out walking?”
“Yes.”
“You found it rather dark, did you not?”
“It is dark as a pocket.”
“You couldn't have found the walk a very pleasant one.”
“You are right, my friend; but I didn't walk for pleasure. The fact is, I am rather worried about a business matter. I have learned that I am threatened with a heavy loss--an unwise investment in the West--and I wanted time to think it over and decide how to act.”
“I see,” answered the clerk, respectfully, for Stark's words led him to think that his guest was a man of wealth.
“I wish I was rich enough to be worried by such a cause,” he said, jokingly.
“I wish you were. Some time I may be able to throw something in your way.”
“Do you think it would pay me to go to the West?” asked the clerk, eagerly.
“I think it quite likely--if you know some one out in that section.”
“But I don't know anyone.”
“You know me,” said Stark, significantly.
“Do you think you could help me to a place, Mr. Stark?”
“I think I could. A month from now write to me Col. Philip Stark, at Denver, Colorado, and I will see if I can find an opening for you.”
“You are very kind, Mr.--I mean Col. Stark,” said the clerk, gratefully.
“Oh, never mind about the title,” returned Stark, smiling good-naturedly. “I only gave it to you just now, because everybody in Denver knows me as a colonel, and I am afraid a letter otherwise addressed would not reach me. By the way, I am sorry that I shall probably have to leave you to-morrow.”
“So soon?”
“Yes; it's this tiresome business. I should not wonder if I might lose ten thousand dollars through the folly of my agent. I shall probably have to go out to right things.”
“I couldn't afford to lose ten thousand dollars,” said the young man, regarding the capitalist before him with deference.
“No, I expect not. At your age I wasn't worth ten thousand cents. Now--but that's neither here nor there. Give me a light, please, and I will go up to bed.”
“He was about to say how much he is worth now,” soliloquized the clerk. “I wish he had not stopped short. If I can't be rich myself, I like to talk with a rich man. There's hope for me, surely. He says that at my age he was not worth ten thousand cents. That is only a hundred dollars, and I am worth that. I must keep it to pay my expenses to Colorado, if he should send for me in a few weeks.”
The young man had noticed with some curiosity the rather oddly-shaped bundle which Stark carried under his arm, but could not see his way clear to asking any questions about it. It seemed queer that Stark should have it with him while walking. Come to think of it, he remembered seeing him go out in the early evening, and he was quite confident that at that time he had no bundle with him. However, he was influenced only by a spirit of idle curiosity. He had no idea that the bundle was of any importance or value. The next day he changed his opinion on that subject.
Phil Stark went up to his chamber, and setting the lamp on the bureau, first carefully locked the door, and then removed the paper from the tin box. He eyed it lovingly, and tried one by one the keys he had in his pocket, but none exactly fitted.
As he was experimenting he thought with a smile of the night clerk from whom he had just parted.
“Stark,” he soliloquized, addressing himself, “you are an old humbug. You have cleverly duped that unsophisticated young man downstairs. He looks upon you as a man of unbounded wealth, evidently, while, as a matter of fact, you are almost strapped. Let me see how much I have got left.”
He took out his wallet, and counted out seven dollars and thirty-eight cents.
“That can hardly be said to constitute wealth,” he reflected, “but it is all I have over and above the contents of this box. That makes all the difference. Gibbon is of opinion that there are four thousand dollars in bonds inside, and he expects me to give him half. Shall I do it? Not such a fool! I'll give him fifteen hundred and keep the balance myself. That'll pay him handsomely, and the rest will be a good nestegg for me. If Gibbon is only half shrewd he will pull the wool over the eyes of that midget of an employer, and retain his place and comfortable salary. There will be no evidence against him, and he can pose as an innocent man. Bah! what a lot of humbug there is in the world. Well, well, Stark, you have your share, no doubt. Otherwise how would you make a living? To-morrow I must clear out from Milford, and give it a wide berth in future. I suppose there will be a great hue- and-cry about the robbery of the safe. It will be just as well for me to be somewhere else. I have already given the clerk a good reason for my sudden departure. Confound it, it's a great nuisance that I can't open this box! I would like to know before I go to bed just how much boodle I have acquired. Then I can decide how much to give Gibbon. If I dared I'd keep the whole, but he might make trouble.”
Phil Stark, or Col. Philip Stark, as he had given his name, had a large supply of keys, but none of them seemed to fit the tin box.
“I am afraid I shall excite suspicion if I sit up any longer,” thought Stark. “I will go to bed and get up early in the morning. Then I may succeed better in opening this plaguy box.”
He removed his clothing and got into bed. The evening had been rather an exciting one, but the excitement was a pleasurable one, for he had succeeded in the plan which he and the bookkeeper had so ingeniously formed and carried out, and here within reach was the rich reward after which they had striven. Mr. Stark was not troubled with a conscience-- that he had got rid of years ago--and he was filled with a comfortable consciousness of having retrieved his fortunes when they were on the wane. So, in a short time he fell asleep, and slept peacefully. Toward morning, however, he had a disquieting dream. It seemed to him that he awoke suddenly from slumber. and saw Gibbon leaving the room with the tin box under his arm. He awoke really with beads of perspiration upon his brow--awoke to see by the sun streaming in at his window that the morning was well advanced, and the tin box was still safe.
“Thank Heaven, it was but a dream!” he murmured. “I must get up and try once more to open the box.”
The keys had all been tried, and had proved not to fit. Mr. Stark was equal to the emergency. He took from his pocket a button hook and bent it so as to make a pick, and after a little experimenting succeeded in turning the lock. He lifted the lid eagerly, and with distended eyes prepared to gloat upon the stolen bonds. But over his face there came a startling change. The ashy blue hue of disappointment succeeded the glowing, hopeful look. He snatched at one of the folded slips of paper and opened it. Alas! it was valueless, mere waste paper. He sank into a chair in a limp, hopeless posture, quite overwhelmed. Then he sprang up suddenly, and his expression changed to one of fury and menace.
“If Julius Gibbon has played this trick upon me,” he said, between his set teeth, “he shall repent it--bitterly!”
CHAPTER XXVI.
A DISAGREEABLE SURPRISE
PHILIP STARK sat down to breakfast in a savage frame of mind. He wanted to be revenged upon Gibbon, whom he suspected of having deceived him by opening and appropriating the bonds, and then arranged to have him carry off the box filled with waste paper.
He sat at the table but five minutes, for he had little or no appetite.
From the breakfast room he went out on the piazza, and with corrugated brows smoked a cigar, but it failed to have the usual soothing effect.
If he had known the truth he would have left Milford without delay, but he was far from suspecting that the de
ception practiced upon him had been arranged by the man whom he wanted to rob. While there seemed little inducement for him to stay in Milford, he was determined to seek the bookkeeper, and ascertain whether, as he suspected, his confederate had in his possession the bonds which he had been scheming for. If so, he would compel him by threats to disgorge the larger portion, and then leave town at once.
But the problem was, how to see him. He felt that it would be venturesome to go round to the factory, as by this time the loss might have been discovered. If only the box had been left, the discovery might be deferred. Then a bright idea occurred to him. He must get the box out of his own possession, as its discovery would compromise him. Why could he not arrange to leave it somewhere on the premises of his confederate?
He resolved upon the instant to carry out the idea. He went up to his room, wrapped the tin box in a paper, and walked round to the house of the bookkeeper. The coast seemed to be clear, as he supposed it would be. He slipped into the yard, and swiftly entered an outhouse. There was a large wooden chest, or box, which had once been used to store grain. Stark lifted the cover, dropped the box inside, and then, with a feeling of relief, walked out of the yard. But he had been observed. Mrs. Gibbon chanced to be looking out of a side window and saw him. She recognized him as the stranger who had been in the habit of spending recent evenings with her husband.
“What can he want here at this time?” she asked herself.
She deliberated whether she should go to the door and speak to Stark, but decided not to do so.
“He will call at the door if he has anything to say,” she reflected.
Phil Stark walked on till he reached the factory. He felt that he must see Julius Gibbon, and satisfy himself as to the meaning of the mysterious substitution of waste paper for bonds.
When he reached a point where he could see into the office, he caught the eye of Leonard, who was sitting at the window. He beckoned for him to come out, and Leonard was glad to do so.
“Where are you going?” asked the bookkeeper, observing the boy's movement.
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