As he rounded into them from Depot Street, he came in sight of the express office.

McCarthy, the night watchman, was seated on the platform looking down in a rueful way.

He got up as Bart approached, and the latter noticed that he looked haggard, and swayed as though his head was dizzy.

"What is it?" cried out Bart irrepressibly.

"I'm sorry, Stirling," said the watchman, "but--look there!"

Bart could not restrain a sharp cry of concern. The express office door stood open, and the padlock and staples, torn from place, lay on the platform. He rushed into the building. Then his dismay was complete.

"The trunk!" he cried--"it's gone!"

"Yes, it is!" groaned McCarthy, pressing at his heels.

Bart cast a reproachful look at the watchman. The lantern, too, had disappeared. He sank to the bench, overcome. Finally he inquired faintly:

"How did it happen?"

"I only know what happened to me," responded the watchman. "I was drugged."

"When--where--by whom?"

"It's guesswork, that, but the fact stands--I was dosed. You asked me to watch, and I did watch. Up to midnight that lantern on top of the trunk wasn't out of my sight fifteen minutes at a time."

"And then?" questioned Bart.

"I always go over to the crossing switch shanty about twelve o'clock to eat my lunch. The old switchman lends me his night key. I put my lunch in on the bench when I come on duty, and he always leaves the stove full of splinters to warm up the coffee quick. When I let myself in at midnight, the lantern here was right as a beacon--I particularly noticed it."

"How long was it before you came out again?"

"Four hours afterwards--just a little while ago."

"Then you--fell asleep?" said Bart.

"Yes, I did, and no blame to me. I'm no skulker, as you well know. I never did such a thing before in all my ten years of duty here. I was doped."

"How do you know that?" asked Bart.

"I warmed up the coffee and had my lunch," narrated the watchman. "Then I settled down for a ten minutes' comfortable smoke, as I always do. I felt sort of sickish, right away. I had noticed that the coffee tasted queer, but I fancied it might have been burned. Anyhow, half an hour ago I seemed to come out of a stupor, my head fairly splitting, and my stomach burning as though I'd taken poison. I thought of poison, somehow, and more so than ever as I reached over to see if there was any coffee left, for my throat was dry as a piece of pine board. There wasn't, but at the bottom of the pail were two or three little sticky brown dabs. I tasted the stuff. It was opium. I know, for I've used it in sickness. I stumbled out to get the air. The minute I glanced over at the express office I guessed it all out. It's a burglary, right and proper, Stirling, and the fellows who did it knew I was on the watch, got into the switch shanty, fixed the coffee and put me to sleep."

Bart rapidly turned over in his mind all that the watchman had disclosed.

"See here," he said promptly, "how many keys are there to the switch shanty?"

"Only one that I know anything of," responded McCarthy. "There can't be many, or the old switchman wouldn't have to lend me his key."

"Lem Wacker subbed for him once, didn't he?" inquired Bart pointedly.

"Yes, for a day or two--say! you don't think--" began the watchman, with a start of suspicion.

"I'm not thinking anything positive," interrupted Bart--"I am only seeking information. When Wacker subbed for the old switchman, did he have a special key?"

"N--no," answered the watchman hesitatingly, "for I remember Wacker loaned me the old switchman's key the first night. Hold on, though!"

cried McCarthy with a spurt of memory, "it comes back to me clear now.

The next night he told me to keep the key till the old switchman came back on duty--so he must have had an extra one of his own. They are easily got--it's a common, ordinary lock."

Bart's lips shut close. He went outside, looked keenly around, and jumped down from the platform.

The watchman trailed out after him, watching him in a worried, discouraged way. There was no doubting the word of a trusted employee like McCarthy, and Bart realized that he felt very badly over the matter.

"What is it, Stirling--have you found anything?" asked the watchman eagerly, as Bart, after inspecting the roadway, still more narrowly regarded the edges of the platform boards, running his finger over them in a critical way.

"Yes, I have," announced Bart--"that trunk was taken away from here in a wagon."

"How do you know?"

"Look at those fresh wheel tracks," directed Bart, pointing to the road.

"They sided a wagon up to the platform, right here. So close, that a wheel or the body of the wagon sc.r.a.ped along the edges of the boards.

The paint was fresh. And it was bright red," added Bart.

"You're a good one to guess that out," muttered the watchman. "Why, say--"

McCarthy gave a prodigious start and put his hand up to his head, as if some idea had occurred to him with tremendous force. "You mentioned Lem Wacker. It's funny, but last week Wacker bought a new wagon."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Yes, it was the same one that his scapegrace nephew, Dale Wacker, was caught peddling the stolen pickles in. I saw Lem painting it fresh out in his shop only two days ago. You know I live just beyond him."

"What color?"

"Red."

"Then Lem Wacker must know something about this burglary!" declared Bart.

CHAPTER XVI

AT FAULT

"I am sorry," again said the night watchman, after a long thoughtful silence on the part of Bart.

"I know you are, Mr. McCarthy," returned Bart, "but n.o.body blames you.

I've got to get back that trunk, though! you are positive about Lem Wacker's wagon being newly painted?"

"Oh, sure."