CHAPTER XVII
A FAINT CLEW
"What's the trouble, Stirling?" inquired Silas Green, as Bart stoodsilently thinking out the problem set before him. "You seem sort ofdisappointed to find Wacker here. If you didn't think he was here, whydid you come inquiring for him?"
"I knew he came here last night," said Bart. "Mrs. Wacker told me so."
"Do you want to see him?"
"No, I think not," answered Bart after a moment's reflection.
"Then is there anything else I can do for you, or tell you? You seemtroubled. They say I'm a crabbed, treacherous old fellow. All the same,I would do a good turn for Robert Stirling's son!"
"Thank you," said Bart, feeling easier. "If you will, you might tell mewho was with Lem Wacker last night."
"Two men--don't know them from Adam, never saw them before. Lem droveup with them in his rig about ten o'clock. They took the horse and wagonaround to the side shed and came in, drank and talked a lot amongthemselves, and finally started playing cards in the little roomyonder."
"By themselves?"
"Yes. Once, when I went in with refreshments, Wacker was in a terribletemper. It seemed he had lost all his money, and he had staked his rigand lost that, too. One of the two men laughed at him, and rallied him,remarking he would have 'his share,' whatever that meant, in a day ortwo, and then they would meet again and give him his revenge. By theway, I'm off in my story--Wacker did leave here, about eleven o'clock."
"Alone?"
"Yes. He was gone half an hour, came back looking wise and excited,joined his cronies again, and at midnight was helpless. My man and Icarried him upstairs to bed."
"What became of the two men?"
"They sat watching the clock till closing time, one o'clock, went out,unhitched the horse, and drove off."
"I wish I knew who they were," murmured Bart.
"I suppose I might worry it out of Wacker, when he gets his head clear,"suggested Green.
"I don't believe he would tell you the truth--and he might suspect."
"Suspect what?" demanded Green keenly.
"Never mind, Mr. Green. Can I take a look into the room where they spentthe evening?"
"Certainly--go right in."
Bart held his breath, nearly suffocated by the mixed liquor and tobaccotaint in the close, disorderly looking apartment.
His eye passed over the stained table, the broken glasses and litter ofcigar stubs. Then he came nearer to the table. One corner was coveredwith chalk marks.
They apparently represented the score of the games the trio had played.There were three columns.
At the head of one was scrawled the name "Wacker," at the second "Buck,"at the third "Hank."
Bart wondered if he had better try to interview Lem Wacker. He decidedin the negative.
In the first place, Wacker would not be likely to talk with him--if hedid, he would be on his guard and prevaricate; and, lastly, as long ashe was asleep he was out of mischief, and helpless to interfere withBart.
The young express agent left the Sharp Corner without saying anythingfurther to Silas Green.
He had his theory, and his plan. His theory was that Lem Wacker, with aperfect knowledge of the express office situation, had "fixed" the nightwatchman's lunch, and employed two accomplices to do the rest of thework.
When Wacker woke up, he would simply say he had sold his rig to twostrangers, and, so far as the actual burglary was concerned, would beable to prove a conclusive _alibi_.
The men who had committed the deed had driven off with the wagon andtrunk, and by this time were undoubtedly at a safe distance in hiding.
Bart went home, got his breakfast, told his mother a trunk had got lostand he might have to go down the road to look it up, returned to theexpress office, found Darry Haven and McCarthy on duty, gave them someroutine directions, and left the place.
Darry Haven followed him outside with a rather serious face.
"Bart," he said anxiously, "Mrs. Colonel Harrington drove down here afew minutes ago."
"About the trunk, I suppose."
"Yes, and she was wild over it. Said you had got rid of the trunk tospite her, because she had had some trouble with your mother."
"Nonsense! Anything else?"
"If the trunk don't show up to-day, she says she will have youarrested."
Bart shrugged his shoulders, but he was consciously uneasy.
"What did you tell her, Darry?" he inquired.
"I put on all the official dignity I could assume, but was very politeall the time, informed her that mislaid, delayed and irregular expressmatter were common occurrences, that the company was responsible for itscontracts, counted you one of its most reliable agents, and assured herthat very possibly within twenty-four hours she would find her trunkdelivered safe and sound at its destination."
"Good for you!" laughed Bart. "Keep an eye on things. I'll show up, orwire, by night."
"Any clew, Bart?"
"I think so."
Bart went straight to the home of Professor Abner Cunningham.
That venerable gentleman--antiquarian, scientist and profoundscholar--had a queer little place at the edge of the town where heraised wonderful bees, and grew freak squashes inside glass molds inevery grotesque shape imaginable.
He was a friend to all the boys in town, and Bart joined him withoutceremony as he found him out on the lawn in his skull cap and dressinggown, studying a hornets' nest with a magnifying glass.
"Ah, young Bartley--or Bartholomew, is it?" smiled the innocent-facedold scientist jovially. "I have a new volume on nomenclature that givesquite an interesting chapter on the Bartholomew subject. It takes youback to the eleventh century, in France--"
"Professor, excuse me," interrupted Bart gracefully, "but something veryvital to the twentieth century is calling for urgent attention, and Iwanted to ask you a question or two."
"Surely. Glad to tell you anything," assured the professor, happiestalways when he was talking, and willing to talk for hours with anyonewho would listen to him. "Come into the library."
"I really haven't the time, Professor," said Bart. "Please let me ask ifyou had charge of getting up that directory of the county that a cityfirm published?"
"Two years ago? yes," nodded the professor assentingly. "It was quite apleasant and profitable task. I believe I saw about every resident inthe county in preparing that directory."
"I am going to ask you a foolish question, perhaps, Professor,"continued Bart, "for an accurate person like you of course took downonly correct names, and not nicknames. Here is the gist of it, then. Iam looking for two men, and I know only that they live outside ofPleasantville, and call themselves Buck and Hank."
"Well! well! well!" muttered Professor Cunningham in a musing tone."Hank, proper name Henry; Buck, proper name Buckingham--hold on, I'vegot it! Come in!" insisted the professor animatedly. "Oh, you haven'ttime? Buckingham? Sure thing! Wait here, just a minute."
The professor rushed into the house, and in about two minutes camerushing out again.
He had an open book in his hand, and stumbled over flower beds and walksrecklessly as he consulted it on the run, spilling out some loose papersit contained, and leaving a white trail behind him.
"You see here the value of keeping notes of everything," he panted, onreaching Bart--"nothing is lost in this world, however small. Here weare: 'County at large.' Now then, in my private notes: 'Allessandro'uncommon name--'look up--probably Greek.' 'Alaric, Altemus, Artemas,Benno, Borl, Bud--derived from Budlongor, Budmeister--Buck'--I've gotit: 'Buckingham, last name Tolliver, residence: Millville, occupationnone.' Hold on. We've got the clew--now for the town record."
The Professor again flitted away to the house, and darted back againwith a new volume in his hand.
"Here you are!" he cried, selecting a printed page. "'Millville,population two hundred and sixty, not on railroad. R.S.T. Tappan,Tevens, Tolliver'--Ah, 'Buckingham Tolliver, Henry Tolliver,' must bebrothers, I fancy. That's all I'
ve got on record. Information any use toyou?"
"Is it?" cried Bart, in profound admiration of the old bookworm'ssystem. "Professor, you are the wisest man and one of the best men Iever met!"