CHAPTER XVII
THE CODE BOOK
It seemed as though Peter McSwain never did anything withoutperspiring. He perspired now with the simple effort of thought. Butit was a considerable effort and a considerable thought. He crowdedmore of the latter into five minutes, he assured himself, than abankrupt Wall Street man could have done on the eve of settling day.The object of his thought was the telegraph operator and the subject ofit the interesting thesis of bribery. Then, too, there were the sideissues, which included David Slosson, a telegraph message, and two menwaiting at the other end of things for the result of his share in theproceedings.
He made no attempt at pleasant conversation with the row of guestslounging with feet skywards on the shady veranda. For the time atleast the affairs of his hotel were quite secondary. It seemed to himjust now that these men were the misfortunes of a commercial interest.They were the things that kept him living concealed beneath an exteriorof polite attention which he detested. He had never had a chance ofbeing his real self until this moment. There was work of a delicatenature to be performed, work which was to prove his ability in thosefiner channels where individuality would count and genuine clevernessmust be displayed. A lot was depending upon his capacity.
This feeling inspired him, and the dew on his forehead became a moistand shallow lake that was already overflowing its banks. At the end offive minutes, after having seen David Slosson leave the telegraphoffice and move off down the Main Street, this lake became a streamingtorrent as he left the veranda and passed round to the back of thehotel.
This retrograde movement was a part of his deeply laid plans. He hadno object in visiting either his barn or his kitchens. The Chinesecook possessed no interest for him at the moment, and as for the hensand the team of horses, and his lame choreman who tended them, they hadnever been farther from his thoughts.
He appeared interested, however, and mopped his forehead several timesas he surveyed the scene with attentive eye. Then he passed on withouta word. Now his route became circuitous. He walked a hundred yardsaway from the town, and appeared to be contemplating the open countrywith weighty thoughts in his mind. Then he turned away and moved inanother direction, towards the railroad track. Again he paused withmeasuring eye. Then he crossed the track and strode off in a freshdirection. This time he was moving northwards away from the depot andtelegraph office. Those who now chanced to observe him lost allinterest in his movements, and for the time his perspiring face wasforgotten. By the time he came within view of the hotel veranda againhis very existence had been forgotten in the midst of the busy talk ofhis guests. And so he was enabled to reach the telegraph office fromthe farther side without arousing comment.
He casually opened the door and found himself standing before thebarrier of the paper-littered office. The operator was at hisinstrument table ticking out a message in that alert, concentratedmanner peculiar to all telegraphists. The man glanced round at hisvisitor and continued his work without a sign of recognition, and thehotel-keeper propped himself on the counter and drew a cigar from hisvest pocket.
By the time he had lit it satisfactorily the ticking of the instrumentceased, and a sigh of relief warned him that Steve Mason was free. Heglanced across at the table with his hot eyes and a shadowy smile.
"Busy these times, Steve," he said genially. "The old days when we hadtime to sit around in this office and yarn are as far back as theflood. Say, you ain't got paralysis of the arm yet? Maybe you work'em both. Hev a smoke?"
Steve smiled wearily.
"Don't you never take on operatin', Peter," he said, accepting theproffered smoke. "Thanks. What's this? One of those 'multiflavums'of yours you keep for drummers?"
Peter shook his head.
"My own smokes. They match the times. We're all making fortunes."
"Are we?"
"Well--ain't we?"
"None of it's come my way," said Steve, lighting his cigar. "Butthat's always the way. We get shunted to a bum town like this on abranch, and they pay us salary according. If the city makes a breakand gets busy and we're nearly crazy with overwork they don't boost usup. Overwork don't mean overpay, nor overtime. They ain't raised me adollar. I'm going to get right on the buck if things keep up. I tellyou I've eaten three meals in this office to-day, with my hand on thekey, and I--I'm just sick to death. I don't take or send again thisnight."
"Guess you'll be able to make a break when you sell your holdings,"McSwain went on sympathetically. He raised the barrier and steppedinto the office, and sat himself in a chair he had often occupied inthe unruffled days before the coal.
Steve laughed and sat himself on the corner of his instrument table.
"I ain't got no holding. You can't buy land on a hundred dollars amonth. No, sir. What with the Chinee laundry and my boarding-house, Iguess I need to smoke your 'multiflavums' and drink your worst rye.Why, I ain't got a balance over to buy an ice-cream-soda in winter."
"You sure are badly staked," murmured Peter.
They smoked in silence for some moments. The atmosphere of the littleoffice was opening the pores of Peter's skin again.
"Say," he went on presently, mopping his brow carefully, "I made quitea stake out of that agent feller, Slosson. Somewheres around tenthousand dollars. Quite a piece of money, eh? I ain't sure he's afool or a pretty wise guy."
"He's the railroad man," said Steve significantly.
"Yes. That don't make him out a fool, does it?"
"I'd smile."
"So'd I--if I knew more. I'd give a hundred dollars to see what's tohappen in the next week or so. I've got a big stake here, if therailroad don't shift the depot. Slosson says they won't. Says he'sbought all he needs right here for his company. I take it he's helpedhimself, too. Still, I'd like to know. The boys back at the hotel arefallin' right over 'emselves to get in. They reckon this place is acinch--since Slosson's bought. I'd like to be sure."
Steve laughed. He read through his friend's purpose now. The visitwas not, as he told himself, for nothing. Peter was looking forinformation which it would be a serious offense for him to give--if hepossessed any, which he didn't.
"Guess there's nothing doing, Peter," he said slyly.
"What d'you mean?" The hotel-keeper's eyes were hotter than ever. Butthere was no resentment in them.
"Why, I just don't know a thing what Slosson's doing. And if I did Icouldn't tell you. It would be a criminal offense. Slosson ain't senta word over the line since he started to buy metal until to-night, andthe message I've just sent for him is in code, so, as far as I'mconcerned, it's so much Greek. I don't know who it's to, even. That'swhy I guess there's nothing doing."
"No--I s'pose not. I s'pose codes can be read, though? There'sexperts who worry out any old code. Guess it's mighty interestin'. IfSlosson's sendin' in code I guess he's got something in it he don'tneed folks to know. That makes it more worrying."
Peter heaved a great sigh of longing. The other shook his head.
"You've got to find the key to 'em," he said.
"Yep--a Bible, or some queer old book. Maybe the 'History of theUnited States.' Say, I'd hate to chase up the 'History of the UnitedStates' looking for a key. Maybe it would be interestin', though.Say----"
"You couldn't do it in a month of years," laughed Steve, humoring hisfriend. "What would it be worth to you to be able to read his code?"
"Oh, maybe I'd make fifty thousand dollars."
"Whew! That's some money."
"Sure. I'd like to try. Say, boy, I'll hand you five hundred dollarsto let me take a copy of that message. All you need do is just leaveit on your table there for five minutes and lock the outer door. Thenjust pass right into the other room till the five minutes is up. I'llhand you the bills right here an' now. I'd like to figure on thatmessage. Is it a bet?"
Steve shook his head. He was scared. He knew the consequences ofdiscovery to himself too well. It was penitentiary. It was
theequivalent of tapping wires. But Peter was unfolding a big roll ofbills, and the temptation of handling that money was very great.
"You just need to copy the message out? That all?"
"Just that. No more."
"You won't need to disfigure my record?"
"Sure not." Peter grinned. He was sweating, profusely. He felt hewas on a hot scent and likely to make a kill.
"Only to make a _copy_. It's a big bunch of money for just a copy,"Steve demurred suspiciously.
Peter laughed.
"Say, boy, we're old friends. I ain't out to do you a hurt. All Ineed is to try and worry out that code and know things. If I was sureof being able to read it, why, this five hundred would be fivethousand, and worth it all to me, every cent of it. If I can't readthat code, then I'll just hand you back my copy, and no harm's done.See? I tell you I wouldn't hurt you for more than the money I hope tomake. Is it a bet?"
Steve passed out through the barrier and turned the key in the door.Then he came back.
"I'll take that money."
"Good."
Peter paid it over, and then watched the other as he took the originalmessage which Slosson had written off a file and laid it on the tablebeside a blank form.
"Say, be as sharp as you can over it," Steve said urgently. Then hepassed into the inner room and closed the door.
The interior of Mike Callahan's livery barn was typical of a smallprairie town. Rows of horse-stalls ran down either side of it, fromone end to the other. At the far end sliding doors opened out upon anenclosure, round which were the sheds sheltering a widely variedcollection of rigs and buggies. Also here there was furtheraccommodation for horses. Just inside the main barn, to the left, theAmerican Irishman had two small rooms. The one at the front, with itswindow on Main Street, was his office. Behind this, dependent forlight upon a window at the side of the building, was a harness-roomcrowded with saddles and harness of every description, also a bunk onwhich Mike usually slept when he kept the barn open at night.
It was late at night now, about midnight on the day following PeterMcSwain's momentous effort with Steve Mason. Four men were gatheredtogether in profound council in Mike's harness-room. The atmosphere ofthe place was poisonous. A horse blanket obscured the window, and thedoor was shut and locked, although the barn itself was closed for thenight, and there was small enough chance of intrusion. Still, everyprecaution had been taken to avoid any such contingency.
A single guttering candle stuck in the neck of a black bottle illuminedthe intent faces of the men. Gordon was sitting at a small table witha sheet of paper in front of him and a small morocco-bound book besideit. Silas Mallinsbee and Peter McSwain were sitting upon MikeCallahan's emergency bunk, while the owner of it contented himself withan upturned bucket near the door. Cigar-smoke clouded the room andleft the atmosphere choking, but all of them seemed quite impervious toits inconvenience.
For awhile there was no other sound than the rustle of the leaves ofGordon's book and the scratching of the indifferent pen he had borrowedfrom Mike. Then, after what seemed interminable minutes, he looked upfrom his task with a transparent smile.
"It's all right," he said in a low, thrilling tone. "I guess we've gotthe game in our hands. He's used the governor's code."
"You can read it?" demanded Peter quickly, leaning forward with astiff, tense motion.
"Is it what we guessed?" inquired Mike, with a sigh of relief.
Mallinsbee alone offered no comment.
Gordon nodded in answer to each inquiry. He was reading what he hadwritten over to himself.
Then he turned sharply to Peter.
"For goodness' sake give me a cigar. I need something to keep me fromshouting."
His tone, and the expression of his eyes were full of excitement.
"It's the greatest luck ever," he went on, while Peter produced a cigarand passed it across to him. "This feller's in direct communicationwith the governor. You see, this code is the private one. I had it asthe dad's secretary. The manager had it, and, of course, my father.No one else. So it's just about certain this thing was an importantmatter for Slosson to be allowed to use it. Now I'd never heard ofthis Slosson before, so that it's also evident he's one of my father'ssecret agents. A matter which further proves the affair's importance."
He lit his cigar and puffed at it leisurely as he contemplated hispaper with even greater satisfaction.
"This is addressed direct to the old man, which--makes our work doublyeasy," he went on. "Also the nature of the message helps us. If ithad been to our manager it would have been more difficult to work outmy plans."
He raised the paper so that the candlelight fell full upon it.
"This is the transcript. 'Occipud, New York'--that's my father," headded in parenthesis.
"'Have bought in Snake's Fall, working on instructions. Buffalo Pointcrowd out for a heavy graft. Utterly unscrupulous lot, offeringimpossible deal. Have turned them down on grounds provided for in yourinstructions. Snake's Fall everything you require. Would suggest youcome up here incognito, if possibly convenient. There are otherpropositions in coal worth a deep consideration. Coal deposits herethe greatest in the country. Must come an enormous boom. Will sendword later on this matter. Am sending letter covering operations. Ithink it will be urgent that you visit this place shortly in interestsof boom as well as the coal.--SLOSSON.'"
Gordon looked round at the faces of his companions in silent triumph.And in each case he encountered a keen expectancy. As yet his fellowconspirators were rather in the dark. The significance of thattranscript was not yet sufficiently clear.
"What comes next?" inquired Mallinsbee in his calm, direct fashion.
The others simply waited for enlightenment.
Gordon chuckled softly.
"Now we know we can get at Slosson's messages and my father's messagesto him, and, having the code book, by a miracle of good luck, in mypossession, the rest is easy. First, Peter must get a copy of myfather's reply to this. Meanwhile I shall send an urgent message to myfather in Slosson's name to _come up here at once_. The answer to thatmust never reach Slosson. Get me, Peter? You've got that boy Stevewhere you need him. You must hold him there and pay his price. I'llpromise him he'll come to no harm. When my father finds out thingsI'll guarantee to pacify him. This way we'll get my father here, I'llpromise you. And when he does get here the fun 'll begin--as we havearranged. That clear? Mike's got his work marked out. You yours,Peter. Mr. Mallinsbee and I will do the rest. Peter, you did a greatact laying hands on this message. It was worth double the price. Thewhole game is now in our hands."
Gordon folded up the paper and placed it inside the code book, which hecarefully returned to his pocket.
Mike rubbed his hands.
"Say, it's sure a great play," he said gleefully.
"And seein' you're his son the risk don't amount to pea-shucks," noddedthe perspiring hotel proprietor.
"You can be quite easy on that score," laughed Gordon. "I can promiseyou this: it won't be the old dad's fault, when this is over, if youdon't find yourselves gathered around a mighty convivial boardsomewhere in New York--at his expense. You know my father as a prettybright financier. I don't guess you know him as the sportsman I do."
Mallinsbee suddenly bestirred himself and removed his cigar.
"I kind o' wish he weren't your father, Gordon, boy," he said bluntly."It sort of seems tough to me."
Gordon's eyes shot a whimsical smile across at Hazel's father.
"I'd hate to have any other, Mr. Mallinsbee," he said. "Maybe I knowhow you're feeling about it. But I tell you right here, if my fatherknew I had this opportunity and didn't take it, he'd turn his face tothe wall and never own me as his son again. You're reckoning that fora son to do his father down sort of puts that son on a level with DavidSlosson or any other low down tough. Maybe it does. But I just thinkmy father the bulliest feller on earth, and I love him mighty hard. I
love him so well that I'd hate to give him a moment's pain. I tell youfrankly that it would pain him if I didn't take this opportunity. Itwould pain him far more than anything we intend to do to him--when weget him here."
He rose from his seat and his good-natured smile swept over the facesof his companions.
"How do you say, gentlemen? Our work's done for to-night. Are we forbed?"