Jim Cummings; Or, The Great Adams Express Robbery Part 23

When c.u.mmings left the coal office, he pa.s.sed through the alley, and going south to Randolph street, returned to the hotel for the night.

The next day two of the Pinkerton force relieved Sam and Chip, who immediately went to their room at the Commercial Hotel, where they boarded.

As Chip was eating his supper that evening and glancing over the Evening Journal, a large broad-shouldered man, wearing a heavy mustache, pa.s.sed the table, and, seating himself at another one, faced the detective.

It was part of Chip's religion never to allow any man to pa.s.s him or remain near him without looking at him carefully, so lowering the paper until his eye could see just above the upper edge, he glanced at the new-comer. A thrill like an electric shock pa.s.sed through him, for in every feature, except the heavy mustache, Chip saw Jim c.u.mmings, the Adams Express robber.

The broad girth of his shoulders, the triangular gold-filling of his front tooth, the peculiar manner of hanging his head slightly on one side as if he were a trifle deaf, all belonged to Jim c.u.mmings, all but the mustache. Was it real or false? If real, the man was not the noted robber, but if false--well, if it were false Chip had a bit of paper in his pocket which would take it off.

He felt in his pocket for the warrant, and to his disgust recollected that Sam had it.

He could do nothing without it.

He timed his supper so nicely with that of the suspected man that they both rose together, Chip pa.s.sing out first; but going down the stairs he fell back and the electric light revealed to the keen eyes of the detective that the mustache was false.

It WAS the train robber.

c.u.mmings, simply stopping a moment to buy a cigar, walked through the office, then crossed Lake on Dearborn street and walked to Randolph, closely followed by Chip.

A Randolph street car came along and Jim sprang on the front platform, Chip jumping on the rear one. Pa.s.sing through the car, he opened the front door and stood beside c.u.mmings, who was puffing his cigar, his coat collar pulled up and his fur cap drawn down over his ears.

Pulling a cigar from his pocket, Chip felt for some matches, but apparently not finding any, he asked:

"I beg your pardon, but would you mind giving me some fire?"

c.u.mmings held out his lighted cigar, at the same time darting a searching look at his questioner, but in the handsome, well-dressed, almost dandified young man before him, he failed to recognize the uncouth, grimacing Scip of Swanson's ranche.

The pair rode along together, and after pa.s.sing Halsted street some distance, Chip saw that he was getting ready to jump off at the next cross street, so, as soon as the car reached the street, Chip stepped off and walked briskly toward Lake street.

c.u.mmings rode to the other crossing and did the same, utterly without any suspicion whatever.

Although Chip walked straight ahead, he kept his eye on the dark figure moving parallel to his course on the other side, and saw it turn abruptly to the left and enter the alley.

Quickening his steps, Chip hurried to the house in which the watch was kept, and bounding up the steps, to his delight, found Sam in the room.

"c.u.mmings is over there," said Chip, excitedly.

"Sure?"

"As certain as I am that I live."

"Come on, then!" and Sam ran down the steps, followed by Chip and the other two detectives.

As they reached the foot of the stairs the door of the coal office opened and three men stepped out on the sidewalk.

"The devil," said Chip, "that is more than I bargained for."

The three men stood a moment conversing, then the detectives heard c.u.mmings say:

"I'll be back in an hour," as he turned east and walked away.

The other two, Weaver and Haight, turned in the opposite direction and sauntered slowly along.

Turning to the two men who had been sent to relieve them, Chip said:

"Follow those two, and arrest them if possible without any noise; your warrant covers them."

By this time c.u.mmings was some little distance below them, strolling leisurely along, and at the next corner the detectives saw him enter a saloon.

Crossing the street, their revolvers in their side coat-pockets ready for use, Sam and Chip entered the saloon.

c.u.mmings, without the false mustache, which he had either removed or lost (in fact it dropped off as he entered the coalyard) had just ordered a drink as the detectives entered.

Without a second's hesitation Chip stepped up to him, and placing his hand on the train robber's shoulder, said quietly:

"Fred Wittrock, alias Jim c.u.mmings, I want you."

Wittrock sprang back as though he had been shot, and glaring like an enraged lion, seemed about to rush upon the audacious detective.

In a twinkling the cold barrels of two revolvers were leveled at his head and, with the address and skill of a practiced adept, Sam pa.s.sed his twisted steel wire "come alongs" around the outlaw's wrist, and Jim c.u.mmings' career stopped short. Any attempt at escape was hopeless, and in silent surrender he held out his other hand and Chip snapped the hand-cuffs on him.

Before the people in the saloon had recovered from their astonishment, the detectives had taken desperate prisoner away, and finding a livery stable near drove to the Pinkerton headquarters. Haight and Weaver had not gone a block before the two detectives arrested them without any struggle, so that within one short half hour the three princ.i.p.als of the GREAT ADAMS EXPRESS robbery were placed behind the bars.

CHAPTER XVIII.

JIM c.u.mMINGS IN PINKERTON'S SWEAT-BOX--HIS CONFESSION.

All night long "Jim c.u.mmings" walked the narrow limits of his room--still undaunted and fearless as of old. The gravity of his position only made him the more daring, and when the first beams of the morning broke through the barred window he had recovered his usual grit and nerve, and determined to die hard and game. Mr. Pinkerton, alone, came into the room just as the outlaw had finished the excellent breakfast which had been served him. Jim looked up, and holding out his hand, in a cheery voice said:

"Good morning, Mr. Pinkerton."

For a second Mr. Pinkerton hardly knew what to say. He was prepared to encounter either a desperate or a sullen prisoner, and was somewhat taken back when he received such a cordial greeting. It was but a second, and fully alive to all the tricks and maneuvers practiced by arrested criminals, he was on the qui vive.

"Good morning, Mr. 'c.u.mmings'. I trust you have had a good breakfast?"

"Oh, fair."

"You slept well?"

"Tip-top."

"I trust you will be able to amuse yourself during the day."

"I won't amuse you, that's certain."