Top-Notch Magazine/Volume 22/Number 2/The Fluctuating Package/Chapter 14

by William Wallace Cook

CHAPTER XIV.

THE CLOUD'S BRIGHT LINING.

IN order to marshal the facts regarding those two Barton packages, so that the various substitutions might be clear to him, directly after dinner at the hotel Ruthven went to his room. With pencil and paper he jotted down the following:

Tuesday, about eleven o'clock. McKenzie learns how express matter is handled, and, while sending package of boots to Barton, takes from the office a prepaid yellow slip and blank waybill. Also, without the knowledge of Reeves, he uses the rubber stamps on the waybills.

Tuesday, three o'clock. Lois enters express office with satchel. Makes first substitution while Summerfield, busy in the cage with his back toward her, is oblivious of her presence. Taking out the parcel with the burglars' tools, she puts into the satchel the six-pound package.

Tuesday, about three-thirty. Summerfield looks over the packages by the stove. Weighs Barton package, and finds it weighs eight pounds. He places it in the storeroom, laying it on shelf near open, barred window. McKenzie, finding an improved jimmy has been left out in hurry and excitement of getting substitute package ready, creeps up through alley back of express office and substitutes original six-pound package for counterfeit eight-pound parcel.

Tuesday, five p.m. Reeves, the driver, comes into express office. Package is weighed by him and Summerfield, and tips the scale at six pounds.

Tuesday, about six p.m. McKenzie comes to rear window of storeroom to put back the counterfeit package with the added jimmy, but is unable to do so. The original package is not in the storeroom, but has been left outside by Reeves and Summerfield.

Tuesday evening, eight-thirty. Lois comes to express office. Summerfield goes to drug store for ice cream. While he is away, Lois hands original package to her father, who is outside waiting, and takes from him counterfeit package with the improved jimmy added.

Tuesday evening, about nine. Package is weighed by Summerfield, Lois, and Ruthven. Nine pounds. Unknown to Summerfield, but with knowledge of Lois, Ruthven puts private pencil mark on package.

Tuesday evening, after nine. Weasel Morrison's telegram about the "canister" is received by McKenzie. That night, McKenzie opens window in rear of storeroom and removes package to add still another article to its contents. When he comes to put back the counterfeit package and take original, he is interfered with by night watchman and gives up the attempt for the night. Lois has told him of Ruthven's private mark, and McKenzie duplicates it on the other package.

Wednesday, nine-thirty a m. Package weighed again. Six pounds.

Wednesday, ten-thirty a.m. Reeves drives to station with outgoing freight for Seventeen. McKenzie there with a satchel, ostensibly to meet Lois. Lois had gone east at eight-thirty, that morning, to catch Seventeen at Williamsburg, and ride back with Weasel Morrison, so as to explain the situation to him. While Reeves is unloading wagon, McKenzie exchanges counterfeit parcel with added revolver, putting package containing boots into satchel. Hands this satchel to Morrison when train halts, and Lois gets off. Mails his letter on the train—the one for Jenkins, the deputy sheriff at Dry Wash.

Wednesday, ten-fifty a.m. Reeves telephones from station that package weighs ten pounds.

Note: Mighty good thing for me that the "canister" was loaded with blanks.

"That," Ruthven remarked, after he had scribbled out this summary, "gets this series of substitutions in black and white, so far as McKenzie and Lois are concerned. Now, what happened after that? Let's see."

Picking up the pencil, he reflected for a few moments, and went on with his writing:

On Seventeen. Train halts at Bluffton by order of division superintendent. Morrison learns an extra is coming after Seventeen with Durfee and Harrington and others. Gets worried about package in express car. Goes forward, mingling with other passengers who have got off the train during the wait. While messenger is busy, exchanges packages through open door of car, leaving six-pound parcel in place of the one weighing ten pounds. When extra arrives, package in express car is found to weigh six pounds, and to contain tan bluchers for Barton. Morrison sees and recognizes Ruthven from car window. Watches while Ruthven jumps on the train. Knows he is after him, and that he must get rid of burglar tools. Goes forward, enters express car, and bowls over messenger from behind. Exchanges burglar tools for six-pound package, and jumps off train just before it reaches Okaday.

Leaning back in his chair, Ruthven studied this last effort. It was one of analysis, pure and simple. In the light of what he had learned from McKenzie, he believed he had hit off the course of events pretty accurately.

"Now," he asked himself, "what about the attempted holdup on the way to the ranch? Ah, I have it!" Again he seized the pencil and wrote:

Thursday forenoon. Nate Wylie sick with mountain fever and unable to make the trip to Dry Wash. William Martin acts as substitute freighter. Morrison's plans all up in the air. Only thing he can do is to pull off a holdup in making exchange of package with boots for package with burglar's tools. His pal helps him. Horses run away. Package spilled out with rest of freight in the mountain wagon. Morrison picks up package with tools and puts down package with boots—breaking wrapper and box to make it appear as though package had received rough treatment in spill from wagon.

"By Jove, I've got it!" exclaimed Ruthven, in a glow over his work. "I have followed those two packages, in all their changes and adventures, from the time the boots were handed over the counter of the express office in Burt City. How blamed simple it all is, when one puts it down in black and white! And yet, what a brain twister when one hasn't got the key to the mystery. I——"

He broke off his reflections as the tragic side of the matter forced itself on his attention. His heart sank as he thought of McKenzie and Lois. When Weasel Morrison talked against McKenzie, the Honorable Arlo McKenzie, member of the legislature, the junior partner in the firm of Long & McKenzie, what would happen? Ruthven, who had a big heart and was kindly and considerate to all, felt a clammy hand gripping his brain. How would Summerfield behave toward Lois, when the dread truth came out?

"I think Joe is a real man," Ruthven reflected, "and I'm sure that he'll act like a man. He won't give up the girl, no matter what Weasel Morrison says. What a scoundrel Morrison is, anyhow! McKenzie is caught in a web similar to the one that entangled Millyar. There was a silver lining to Millyar's cloud, but McKenzie's troubles so far as I can see, have no bright side."

Toward six o'clock, Ruthven made his way back to the McKenzie home. McKenzie himself met him at the door. He was dressed with care, freshly shaved, and wearing his best clothes. There was grim determination in his gaunt face. Just from the look of him, Ruthven knew that he had steeled himself to see that crisis through to a finish.

Lois was in the sitting room, quietly waiting. "This awful hour finds us ready, Mr. Ruthven," she said, with a wan smile. Then she whispered, as her father stepped out of the room for a moment: "Watch dad, will you? He seems so calm and self-possessed that I am afraid some desperate purpose is in his mind. He—he might attack Morrison."

Ruthven nodded reassuringly. "I'll watch," he added. "Don't worry."

They heard the train roll up to the station from the west. It was several minutes late. McKenzie placed himself at a window from which he could see the railroad station, and watched the arriving passengers. Ruthven got up and stepped to his side. Out of the crowd that moved around the station, one man could be seen making in the direction of Al Reeves, who was hauling a truckload of incoming freight. The two talked together for a moment, then Reeves turned and pointed in the direction of McKenzie's house.

"That's Hackett, the detective," said Ruthven.

The ticking of the clock sounded like a knell. The fitful piping of the canary only served to accentuate the dreariness of the wait.

"He's coming this way alone," remarked McKenzie colorlessly. "Is some one else bringing Morrison?"

"Maybe Morrison isn't going to come at all," returned Ruthven, a sudden hope thrilling in his voice. "I told Hackett I didn't see the use of bothering you with any of Morrison's schemes. He insisted that it was necessary; but maybe he has changed his mind."

"I believe, Mr. Ruthven," said McKenzie, "that you have been a much better friend of mine, all along, than I had any reason to think; but the blow is going to fall, and. we may as well wait patiently for it."

He sat down and cast a glance, full of vague anxiety, toward Lois. She smiled back at him sympathetically and cheeringly. Presently there was a knock at the door, and Lois went to answer it.

"Mr. McKenzie's house?" came the question in Hackett's voice from the front door.

"Yes."

"Is Mr. McKenzie here, or will I have to go to the store to see him?"

"He is here. Please come in."

The detective was ushered into the room. "Hello, Ruthven!" he called; "glad to see you here. This is Mr. McKenzie?"

Ruthven introduced the two men.

"You've called to see me about—about something Weasel Morrison said?" queried McKenzie, bracing himself.

"That's it exactly."

"I thought Morrison was to be with you?"

"So did I. Jenkins and I were bringing him and his pal along, and I intended to stop off at Burt City with Morrison, but—well, that is impossible now. You see, I had Morrison handcuffed to my right wrist, and in some way he managed to break the cuff, dashed down the aisle of the car, and jumped into the right of way."

Here was startling information. All those in the room sat up very straight as they listened.

"And he escaped?" asked Ruthven.

"No," said the detective slowly, "he didn't escape. The train was going rapidly—we were midway between stations—and there was a deep, rocky cut beside the track. Morrison went into that cut like a bag of meal, and rolled over and over. When the train stopped and backed up, we carried him aboard and brought him to the railroad company's hospital at Okaday. Jenkins got off with him there, taking the other prisoner along. I came on here."

"Was—was Morrison badly hurt?" asked McKenzie.

"There was a doctor on the train, and he examined Morrison, and didn't think he had a chance. Morrison revived so that he could talk, and was made to realize his situation. He dictated a statement which he wanted brought to Mr. McKenzie. I haven't the slightest idea what it means to you, McKenzie, but here it is. Morrison could not use his hand to write, but he placed his finger on a pencil and some one else wrote his name for him. His statement was witnessed by myself, Jenkins, the doctor, and a nurse."

Hackett passed a folded paper to McKenzie. The latter unfolded it, and, in a shaking voice, read aloud:

Some years ago, in Chicago, one Luther Briggs was arrested as a pickpocket and sent to the penitentiary for five years. He served his time, left prison, and made good in the West. Desiring to undo a wrong, and being told that I am near the end of my mortal career, I wish to state that I was guilty of the crime, for which Luther Briggs was convicted. The leather was lifted by me and transferred to the pocket of Briggs. I thought Briggs would make an excellent side partner, and had approached him on the matter, but he would not listen to me. Inasmuch as this supposed offense was his first, I thought he would escape with a light sentence, and that I could handle him when he came out of prison. But the judge gave him the limit, and my plan went wrong. This is the truth.

(Signed) Weasel Morrison.

A dead silence reigned in the room when McKenzie finished reading. With a long, deep sigh he fell back in his chair and the paper dropped from his fingers.

"Father!" burst joyously from Lois, and she ran to put her arms about him.

"At last, after all these years!" murmured McKenzie brokenly.

Ruthven took the detective by the arm, and drew him from the room and from the house. "We're only in the way there now," he cried happily. "Say, I'd like to give three good cheers and a tiger! Oh, this is fine, and all the finer because it was unexpected."

"Hanged if I know what I've done that's so all-fired fine, but sometimes it's just as well for a detective not to know too much. When can I get a train back to Okaday?"

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