CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE REVELATIONS OF A SATCHEL.

"h.e.l.lo, old man!"

"Eh?"

The man stopped, stared at Harry Bernard as if puzzled, and then began to grin.

"I want to speak with you, sir."

"Sortin, sortin you can."

"Who are you?"

"Sam Wiggs o' Yonkers. Wat can I do for ye, mister?"

The old fellow seemed honest enough, and as Harry glanced at the dirty hands, he saw nothing to excite his suspicions.

"Are you a relative of Mr.---?" naming the farmer who owned the place on which they stood.

"Wal, not as I knows on," drawled the old fellow, laughing until his old head seemed ready to topple from his shoulders. "No blood relation, any how, sir. You see, my wife's cousin's aunt's husband's brother Jerry was a cousin to Nicodemus Dunce, who, if I don't disremember, was related in some way to Isacker Pete's wife's sister, and she was this ere man's niece, or somethin' o' that sort, but we ain't blood related nohow."

"I should think not," answered Harry, and then he returned to the house, while the old man Wiggs proceeded unmolested on his way.

"At a first glance, he DID resemble the man of the emigrant train strongly," muttered Bernard, "but I see now that I was mistaken."

"Well, how did you make out, Harry?"

"This was from d.y.k.e Darrel, who had been watching proceedings from the window.

"A case of mistaken ident.i.ty," answered the young man, with a laugh.

"I was sure I had found the right man when I saw that old chap crossing the yard, but it seems that I was mistaken."

"Are you sure of it?"

"I suppose I am."

d.y.k.e Darrel watched the retreating form of the old man with no little curiosity, however, until his bent form was lost to view down the winding road. Naturally suspicious, the detective more than half believed that the seemingly aged man had not come to the farm-house for any good purpose.

"I can't help thinking that Wiggs, as he called himself, is destined to give us trouble, Harry," the detective said, at length.

"An inoffensive old man," a.s.serted Bernard. At the same time, however, he was not fully content to let the matter rest as it was.

"It might be well enough to watch the old fellow, at any rate," said d.y.k.e Barrel, rising and walking twice across the room, peering nervously out of the window in the direction in which old Wiggs had gone.

"Keep quiet, d.y.k.e," said Bernard. "I will shadow the old fellow, and see if he is other than he seems."

Bernard was on the point of leaving the room, when a youth appeared, walking swiftly toward the farm-house from the direction of the station. One glance sufficed to show both men the genial face of the boy Paul Ender.

"So you have Paul with you, Harry?" said the detective with a pleased smile.

"He is my shadow, and I have found him true and brave," answered Harry, at the same time glancing toward Nell, who had told him of the lad's defense of her against the villain Elliston.

"I can testify to his bravery," said the girl. "Paul and I are great friends."

A minute later, young Ender entered the presence of the trio, and deposited a black satchel in the middle of the floor.

"I have committed a theft," said the boy, with a queer look on his face, "and am here to throw myself on the mercy of the court."

"You speak in riddles," said Bernard. "I've been on a bully lay, as the peelers say, and I believe have made a discovery, although it may amount to nothing after all."

"Go on."

"I've seen the man with the red hair and beard."

"When?"

"Where?"

"Over by the depot. I saw him go into an old out-house with this satchel in his hand."

"Indeed!"

"Go on."

"I was on the watch, and when he came out I saw, not Brother Ruggles, but a lean old man, with white locks and beard, who seemed to walk with great difficulty."

"Ah!"

"Indeed!"

"He hobbled away, and failed to take the satchel with him. At first I could not believe that the sorrel gent and the old chap were the same.

I learned this by investigation. When, after waiting a spell, and no sunset-haired gent came forth, I proceeded to investigate, and found this satchel, which, under the law of military necessity, I proceeded to confiscate, that the ends of justice might be furthered. If I have done wrong, I am ready to throw myself on the mercy of the court, and be forgiven."

"You have done right," cried d.y.k.e Barrel. "Have you opened the satchel?"

"No. It is locked, and I haven't a key that will fit."

Harry Bernard produced several keys, none of which fitted the lock to the satchel.

"What are we to do?" cried Bernard. "The satchel is securely locked, and its owner has the key."

"This is no time for ceremony or undue squeamishness!" uttered d.y.k.e Darrel. "We are on the eve of an important discovery, and I propose to make no delays."

Then, drawing a knife from his pocket, the detective bent over the satchel and slit the sides at one stroke.