Out of a Labyrinth Part 35

"Ah!" The darkness hid the smile on my face. "That will relieve you a little?"

"Yes, a little; but I'm blessed if I understand it. Business is unusually light just now. I needed an a.s.sistant more in the Fall and Winter."

"Indeed," I said, aloud. Then to myself, "But Carnes and I did not need one so much."

Our agency had done some splendid work for the telegraph company whose wires ran through Trafton; and I knew, before requesting a new operator in the town, that they stood ready to oblige my Chief to any extent compatible with their own business. And my Chief had been expeditious indeed.

"Then you look for your night operator by the down express?" I questioned, carelessly.

"Yes; they wired me that he would come to-night. I hope he'll be an obliging fellow, who won't mind taking a day turn now and then."

"I hope so," I replied, "for your sake, Harris."

We had reached the post-office, and bidding him good night, I entered.

A few tardy Traftonites were there, asking for and receiving their mail, but Dimber Joe was not among them.

I went slowly back to Porter's store, glancing in at various windows as I pa.s.sed, but saw not the missing man.

How had he eluded me? Where should I look for him?

Returning to the hotel, I sat down in the seat lately occupied by the vanished crook, and pondered.

Was Dimber about to strike? Had he strolled out thus early to reconnoiter his territory? If so, he would return anon to equip himself for the work; he could not well carry a burglar's kit in the light suit he wore.

Suddenly I arose and hurried up the stairs, resolved upon a bold measure.

Hastily unlocking my trunk, I removed a tray, and from a skillfully concealed compartment, took a pair of nippers, some skeleton keys, and a small tin case, shaped like the candle it contained. Next, I removed my hat, coat, and boots; and, in another moment, was standing before the door of the room occupied by Dimber Joe. I knocked lightly and the silence within convinced me that the room was unoccupied.

The Trafton House was not plentifully supplied with bolts, as I knew; and my nippers a.s.sured me that there was no key in the lock.

Thus emboldened, I fitted one of the skeleton keys, and was soon within the room, making a hasty survey of Dimber Joe's effects.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Thus a.s.sured, I fitted one of the skeleton keys."--page 279.]

Aided again by my skeleton keys, I hurriedly opened and searched the two valises. They were as honest as they looked.

The first contained a liberal supply of polished linen, a water-proof coat and traveling-cap, together with other articles of clothing, and two or three novels. The second held the clerical black suit worn by Dimber on the evening of his arrival in Trafton; a brace of linen dusters, a few articles of the toilet, and a small six-shooter.

There was nothing else; no concealed jimmy, no "tools" of any description.

It might have been the outfit of a country parson, but for the novels and the revolver. This latter was loaded, and, without any actual motive for so doing, I extracted the cartridges and put them in my pocket.

In another moment I was back in my own room, baffled, disappointed, and puzzled more than before.

Sitting there alone, I drew from my pocket the lately received telegram, and surveyed it once more.

4--. H, c, n, c, e, o, g, k, i, m, b--s, i, a--.

Well might Harris have been puzzled. Arrant nonsense it must have seemed to him, but to me it was simplicity itself. The dispatch was from Carnes, and it said:

"He is coming back."

Simplicity itself, as the reader will see, by comparing the letters and the words.

"He is coming back." This being interpreted, meant, "Blake Simpson is now returning to Trafton."

Was I growing imbecile?

Blake Simpson had departed in the daylight, doubtless taking the "tools of his trade" with him, hence the innocent appearance of his partner's room, for partners, I felt a.s.sured, they were.

He was returning under cover of the darkness; Dimber had gone out to meet him, and before morning, Trafton would be supplied with a fresh sensation.

How was I to act? How discover their point of attack?

It yet lacked more than two hours of midnight. Trafton had not yet gone to sleep.

Blake was coming back, but how?

My telegram came from a village fifteen miles distant. Blake then must have left the train at that point, and Carnes had followed him. He had followed him until a.s.sured that he was actually returning to Trafton, and then he had sent the message.

Blake might return in two ways. He might hire a conveyance and drive back to Trafton, or he might walk back as far as the next station, a distance of five miles, and there wait for the night express.

It seemed hardly probable that he would care to court notice by presenting himself at an inn or livery stable. He would be more apt to walk away from the village, a.s.sume some light disguise, and return by the train. It would be a child's trick for him to drop from the moving train as it entered the town, and disappear unnoticed in the darkness.

Carnes might return by that train, also, but we had agreed that, unless he was fully convinced that Blake meant serious mischief, and that I would need his a.s.sistance, he was to continue on his journey, as it seemed important that he should be in New Orleans as soon as possible.

After some consideration, I decided that I would attach myself to Dimber, should he return, as it seemed likely that he would, it being so early. And if he failed to appear, I would lie in wait for the night express, and endeavor to spot Blake, should he come that way.

Having thus decided, I resumed my hat, coat and boots, extinguished my light, locked my door and went down-stairs.

The office lamp was burning its brightest, and there underneath it, tilted back in the only arm-chair the room could boast, sat Dimber Joe; his hat hung on a rack beside the door, a fresh cigar was stuck between his lips, and he was reading again that brown-covered French novel!

I began to feel like a man in a nightmare. Could that indolent-looking novel reader be meditating a crime, and only waiting for time to bring the hour?

I went out upon the piazza and fanned myself with my hat. I felt discomposed, and almost nervous. At that moment I wished devoutly that I could see Carnes.

By-and-by my absurd self-distrust pa.s.sed away, and I began to feel once more equal to the occasion.

Dimber's room was not, like mine, at the end of the building. It was a "front room," and its two windows opened directly over the porch upon which I stood.

I had the side door of the office in full view. He could not leave the house unseen by me.

Mr. Holtz came out to talk with me. I complained of a headache and declared my intention to remain outside until it should have pa.s.sed away. We conversed for half an hour, and then, as the hands of the office clock pointed to half-past ten he left me to make his nightly round through kitchen, pantries, and dining-room, locking and barring the side door of the office before going. And still Dimber Joe read on, to all appearances oblivious of time and all things else.

A wooden bench, hard and narrow, ran along the wall just under the office window, affording a seat for loungers when the office should be overfull, and the chairs all occupied. Upon this I stretched myself, and feigned sleep, for a time that seemed interminable.

Eleven o'clock; eleven loud metalic strokes from the office time keeper.