"If I could get the five-o'clock express there's a through connection up north. I'd do it, too"--his voice fell suddenly--"only for--"

"Only for what?"

"This," and he held out a small package that he had been carrying. It was box-shaped and neatly wrapped in light-brown paper. The parcel was addressed to S. A. Davidge, 32 Edgewood Road, Exeter, England, and it bore a pasted label that read, "From Redfield & Company, Silversmiths, Maiden Lane, New York City." It also carried the label of the Oceanic Express Company, marked, "Charges Paid" and "per S.S. Russia" with the package number, 44,281, in indelible pencil.

"Well?" said Indiman, interrogatively.

"You see, I was in a sc.r.a.pe on account of that thing, and I wanted to put the matter straight. Up to ten o'clock this morning I was in the employ of the Oceanic Express Company--one of the messengers, you know, sir, who go out with the wagons. It was our first trip of the day, and we had a big load of small stuff for the Russia, When I had unloaded and checked up my sheet, No. 44,281 was missing. I went back to the office, reported the loss, and was discharged on the spot--they're hard as nails on anything like that. Well, I went home pretty blue, for it's hard work finding a job nowadays, and I didn't know which way to turn.

I'd been keeping bachelor hall with the driver of the wagon. He's a foreigner named Grenelli, and claims to be an Italian. Maybe so, but he looks more like a German, and he can talk half a dozen languages. I used to go with him to the socialist meetings over on the East Side, and the Tower of Babel isn't in it with those fellows.

"An anarchist? Oh, I don't think so. Liked to shoot off his mouth about the rights of man, and he was always down on taxes. But I shouldn't call him an anarchist. Why, he was the driver of an express wagon, and the two things don't jibe.

"I should have said that Grenelli had been suspended during the investigation into the loss, and of course we went home together. We talked the thing over from end to end, but we couldn't explain the disappearance of the package--neither of us. Of course, it was me who was the real responsible party in the business, and Grenelli, who naturally wanted to get back on his time, felt pretty grouchy about it.

Finally, I got mad, told him to go to blazes, and cleared out of the house.

"Well, about an hour after that I went home, and met Grenelli coming out; he said that he was going down to the company stable. At two o'clock he come back all out of breath, and he had the package with him--yes, sir, that identical package that we'd been looking for. Told me that it had been found under the driver's seat wrapped up in one of the horse-blankets. Seems funny, too, for we had hunted through that wagon-body a dozen times.

"However, that makes no difference; we had the package, and I had just started down-town to turn it in when I stopped to look at the excitement here. Lucky for me, or I'd never had a bite of this particular red apple, the sweetest pippin that orchard ever grew.

Excuse me, gentlemen, if I do the saphead act--by jinks! I FEEL like it."

"The sentiment does you honor, Mr. Day," said Indiman, gravely. "You ought to take that five-o'clock train."

"Wouldn't I like to!" sighed the enamoured youth. "But I can't go down to the company office in Bowling Green and get back in time to make it.

It's three o'clock now."

"You would not care to intrust the delivery of the package to me?"

"Well, hardly," was the frank reply. "You see, mister, I've been living in New York for three months, now, and I've cut most of my eye-teeth.

No offence, of course."

"Certainly not."

"You look straight goods, and I b'lieve I'd run almost any risk to catch that train--well, by jinks! here comes Grenelli now; that makes it all O.K."

I did not like the looks of the man who presently joined us in response to Ben Day's hail. I distrust, on principle, people with thin, bloodless lips and obliquely set eyes. Yet the fellow spoke pleasantly enough, and he readily undertook to clear young Day's name and reputation with his former employers. The boy handed over the parcel to Grenelli, and then, as he turned to go, begged the honor of shaking hands with Indiman and myself, a permission graciously granted. After all, we had borne no inconsiderable share in the later developments of his good-fortune. Suppose Indiman had NOT upset the apple-cart?

"And now," said Indiman, turning to Grenelli and speaking with great suavity, "I am going to ask the favor of a short interview. My house is only two numbers away."

Grenelli shook his head. "I've nothing to say to you--" he began, defiantly.

Indiman stepped quickly to the fellow's side, took his arm and pressed it closely. He said a few words in an undertone, and to my surprise Grenelli instantly submitted. We entered the house and went to the library on the first floor front. Indiman took from his side coat-pocket a c.o.c.ked revolver and laid it on the table. So that was the kind of persuasion that it had been necessary to apply to secure Mr.

Grenelli's attendance. One is apt to yield the point when he feels a pistol-barrel prodding him in the ribs, and it is no great trick to set a trigger-catch with the weapon in your pocket.

"Stand there," said Indiman, pointing to the far end of the table, and the man obeyed.

"And now, Grenelli," continued Indiman, bluntly, "I want the truth about this affair. Bah, man! don't begin to shuffle about like that.

This isn't the original package delivered by Redfield & Company to the Oceanic Express for shipment to England. You know it and I know it, so we'll just acknowledge a true bill and go on with the evidence.

"A counterfeit, then, of the real thing. But why? That's what we're after now. Simple robbery? Or is there another reason why this particular package was intended to be shipped on the steamship Russia, sailing to-day at four o'clock sharp? You see the point, don't you?

"I admit, Grenelli, that you are a clever man. Since the dynamite outrage on the Icelandic six months ago great care has been taken in the supervision of shipments, for the fast steamers and the Oceanic Express Company require that the contents of every package shall be visibly made known to them before it can be accepted. But once it is inspected and officially labelled it goes through without further difficulty, the steamship people being content with the express company's guarantee.

"And now be kind enough to give me your very best attention. This morning, at ten o'clock, one of these officially registered packages disappeared from the wagon that you were driving. At half-past two this afternoon the parcel is returned to messenger Day, coming through your hands. Now, how long did it take you to make up this dummy--seal, stamp, and all? Of course, you had stolen what you needed for the forgery from the company office--all but the Redfield & Company label, and that you soaked off the original package and reaffixed to this one.

"It wasn't a plausible story that you told Day, but you knew the boy wouldn't be particular over trifles. All he cared about was the cloud upon his honesty. You figured that the package would be returned, perfunctorily examined for identification, and immediately sent on board the steamer. How much picrate or dynamite does it take to knock out the biggest steamship afloat? You could get enough of the stuff in a box of this size--couldn't you? And how were you going to set it off?

Clockwork, of course. But why were you so stupid as to use a clumsy mechanism whose ticking could be heard a block away? Listen to it now."

In the succeeding silence the measured beat of the escapement was plainly audible. There was a sinister significance in the sound that I, for one, shall not easily forget. The man Grenelli paled and took an involuntary backward step.

"The steamship Russia" continued Indiman, in his calm, inflectionless voice, "was booked to carry an unusually distinguished company on this particular trip. The International Peace Congress has been in session in New York during the past fortnight. It adjourned Tuesday, and some thirty of the European delegates had engaged pa.s.sage on this boat. Now, consider for a moment, Grenelli--what a catastrophe to the cause of universal peace should anything happen to the Russia! For example, the destruction of the ship and the consequent loss of life through the explosion of an infernal machine smuggled into the cargo! What confusion, what dismay, what terror! Then the poison of slow suspicion, the dull but deadly undercurrent of racial resentments, the question, growing daily more insistent, 'Who has done this thing?'

"It was an exquisite stroke of irony, Grenelli. I am connoisseur enough to admire really good technique wherever I find it. The nations a.s.semble for a council of peace, and an invisible hand hurls a firebrand into the very centre of the august circle! Puff! The resolutions, with their well-rounded periods, go up into smoke and the tramp of armed men is heard throughout the world. Excellent! Oh, excellent, my good Grenelli!

"But chance always takes a hand in a round game, and at the psychological moment I come out of my house and upset an apple-cart--your apple-cart, my good Grenelli. What incredible bad luck!--to be bowled out by a shiny, red-cheeked pippin from Mattie Townley's orchard in Saco, Maine. You will remember a somewhat similar incident in the Garden of Eden several thousand years ago. Apples are certainly unwholesome fruit for the masculine digestion. But I beg your pardon--you were about to say--"

The man Grenelli glared at his tormentor. "What more do you want of me?" he asked, sullenly. "There's the police--why don't you turn me over to them and have done with it?"

"For the very sufficient reason, my dear Grenelli, that the evidence against you isn't strong enough. The package never reached the Russia, and how are we going to prove your intentions. Besides, in a matter of this sort, the question of tools is of small importance compared with the ident.i.ty of the intelligence that employs them. Who and what is back of this affair? You, Grenelli, are going to tell me."

"Never!"

"Don't be too hasty. Think it over. We have plenty of time before us."

"I don't understand."

"You will presently. Thorp, my dear fellow, will you see that the servants are cleared out of the house at once. Let them all go to the show at the New Academy--at my expense, of course--and they needn't return until noon to-morrow. Make them understand that these are their orders. Then come back here, if you will."

When I returned to the library I found Grenelli seated at one end of the big centre-table and Indiman opposite him. In Indiman's right hand was a revolver, and the express package, addressed to S. A. Davidge, Exeter, England, lay on the table between them. The arrangement looked studied. It gave me an uncomfortable feeling--a well-founded one, as I was immediately to learn.

"Take my place for a moment," said Indiman. He went to the clock on the mantel-piece and stopped it. When he came back to the table he had his watch in his hand; he laid it face downward by the pistol. "Do you carry a timepiece?" he inquired of Grenelli. The prisoner shook his head. "Very good," continued Indiman. "We are now ready for our little experiment. Let me again have your best attention.

"The box containing the infernal machine lies on the table there. Mr.

Grenelli knows at what hour the exploding mechanism is set to act; I do not. But seeing that the Russia sails to-day at four o'clock, we may a.s.sume that the explosion must be timed for to-morrow morning, when the vessel would be well out to sea. Certainly, not earlier; possibly some hours later. It makes no particular difference, for we are going to sit quietly here at the table with that curious box between us until something happens. Either Mr. Grenelli is going to give me that information or--he isn't. But in the latter case it will be of no further use to either of us. Do I make myself quite clear?"

The ticking of the mechanism concealed in the box sounded like the blows of a trip-hammer. Grenelli lit a cigarette with a poor affectation of bravado. "I can stand as much of it as you can," he said, insolently.

"You have the advantage of KNOWING how much," retorted Indiman. "But we'll wait and see who's the best man. And in the mean time, Thorp, old chap, I think you'd better cut your stick. Just bring up some biscuits and a bottle of Scotch, and we'll get along as comfortably as you please."

But I declined to be sent away in this fashion for all that I was horribly afraid. "I can't sit down at that table," I explained, "but I'll keep coming in and out of the room as the spirit moves me. Now, don't say a word; I've made up my mind."

"Well, I sha'n't forget it," said Indiman, simply. Then, in an undertone: "As a matter of absolute fact, the fellow is a coward, and he'll weaken at the end. There isn't the slightest danger--be sure of that."

Hour by hour the early evening dragged away, and then began that interminable night. I spent most of the time in the dining-room at the back, smoking and pretending to read. Twice the book slipped from my hand, and I woke with a horrid start from my cat-nap. Then I would go softly to the library door and peep in. Always the same tableau--the two men sitting opposite each other, alert, silent, watchful, and between them the shaded lamp and that little box lying in the circle of its light.

At about four o'clock I came in and mended the fire in the grate, for the house was growing chilly. Indiman looked over at me and smiled brightly. "Well, it's good to be out of the old ruts, isn't it?" he said. "'Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay,' as some one has truthfully remarked. He was a philosopher, that fellow. Wish we had him here with us to-night; we'd teach him a thing or two more about what living really is."

After that I walked up and down the dining-room floor pretty steadily until the dawn began to steal over the chimney-pots of the houses at the back. It wasn't a pretty sky that the light revealed, dull and streaky looking, with a suggestion of coming rain. I stood looking at it in an absent-minded, miserable sort of stupor; then I heard Indiman calling me.

"I'm out of cigars," he explained. "There's a box in the buffet; and just put out the lamp, will you."