The Gates of Chance Part 19

"Oh, the deuce!" and Indiman stared blankly at his guest.

"You see, it's no use--" began the young man, apologetically, but Indiman cut him short.

"No use! And with my message in your hand before the market opened--the exclusive, the absolute information--"

"Here it is," said Mr. Harding, and handed Indiman his own note. The latter glanced at the contents, and suddenly his face changed.

"Read that, Thorp," he said, and tossed me the message. The letter contained these words:

"The ca.n.a.l treaty will pa.s.s the Senate. Use your own judgment."

"In some inexplicable absence of mind I left out the all-important 'not,'" said Indiman, ruefully, "and it has cost me one hundred thousand dollars. Mr. Harding, I beg your pardon. You are the unluckiest man alive," and he went on to tell him of the whispering-gallery and of the secret obtained in manner so extraordinary. "And then, through my stupidity, worse than wasted," he concluded. "I can't understand it; I read that note through twice before I sealed it up. It is incredible."

"No, it is my luck," said young Mr. Harding, and took a fresh cigar.

"Or, rather, your luck," he corrected himself, smilingly. "Have you forgotten that I am now your property?"

"G.o.d forbid!" said Indiman, hastily. "I give you back yourself--consideration of one dollar. You're a witness, Thorp. And now shall we go in to dinner?"

A position in a wholesale business house was secured for young Mr.

Harding, and for a month or two he seemed to be doing very well. Then one day he resigned; a letter to Indiman gave the explanation.

"He's going to marry a wealthy widow," read out Indiman. "They sail on the Lucania next Sat.u.r.day."

"Then luck has turned for him," I said, heartily. "I'm glad of it."

"Hym!" said Indiman. "Perhaps so."

From the street came the sound of a hand-organ. It was playing Verdi's "Celeste Aida," and so lovely is the aria that I could have listened to it with pleasure, even when thus ground out mechanically. But, unfortunately, an atrocious mistake had been made in the preparation of the music cylinder. In the original the final note of the first two bars is F natural, while in the third bar the tonality is raised and the F becomes F sharp. The transcriber had failed to make this change, and so had lost the uplifting effect of the sharped F. All the life and color of the phrase had been destroyed, and the result was intolerable.

I fished out a quarter and rang for Bolder. "Send him away," I said, somewhat impatiently.

The servant returned looking puzzled. "The organ-grinder said I was to give this to the gentleman," he said, and handed me a small object. It was a bra.s.s baggage-check issued by the New York Central Railway, from Cleveland to New York, and bore the number 18329. I pa.s.sed it to Indiman, ran to the window, and looked out. But the organ-grinder was gone.

IX

The Bra.s.s Baggage-Check

It is not every day in the week that a hand-organ plays "Celeste Aida"

under one's window with an F natural in the third bar where the music rightfully calls for F sharp. Nor is it usual to send out a quarter of a dollar to the man as an inducement for him to retire, and then to receive in return a New York Central baggage-check numbered 18329, and reading from Cleveland to New York. Esper Indiman and I exchanged smiles.

"This looks like the real thing," said my friend. "My dear Thorp, there must be some rare element in your chemical make-up that serves to precipitate these delightful mysteries. Adventures fairly flock about us. We shall have to screen the doors and windows or be overwhelmed.

Seriously, I am infinitely obliged to you, for I had started on my eleventh game of solitaire, and was beginning to feel a trifle bored.

But now--now there is something doing, as Mr. Devery would remark. Let us start the ball rolling by giving Bolder the third degree."

Bolder, recalled, was disposed to be cheerfully communicable. Certainly he would know the man again; he had a good look at him. The sun was s.h.i.+ning brightly, and it had fallen full on the fellow's face.

"Describe him, then," said Indiman, note-book in hand.

Put to the test, Bolder was not so good a witness as we had hoped for; he wandered and grew confused in his statements. Light hair? Yes, it might have been that--though, now that he thought of it, the shade was rather on the darkish order. An old man? Well, not noticeably so; perhaps thirty-five or a little younger.

"Or a little older--say fifty-five?"

"Well, it might have been fifty-five, sir. I couldn't swear to it exactly."

"That will do, Bolder," said Indiman, and our witness retired abashed.

"Check number one," commented Indiman. "Suppose we try the Grand Central now. We won't take out the carriage; the day is fine and I want the walk."

It was a beautiful morning in August, cool and clear, and we strode along briskly. A hand-organ began playing in a side street, and we stopped to listen. "It's the same aria," I said, excitedly--"'Celeste Aida.' What tremendous luck! No, it isn't; deuce take it!" I went on, dejectedly.

"But you just said it was the same," persisted Indiman.

"With a difference," I hastened to explain. Now, Indiman is not musical, and I had some trouble in convincing him that within the compa.s.s of a semitone a veritable gulf may yawn. This particular organ played the phrase in the third bar correctly--F sharp and not F natural--and consequently it could not be the same instrument that had vexed my ears half an hour ago at No. 4020 Madison Avenue.

"There is a real difference, then?" said Indiman, thoughtfully. "One that you would recognize again?"

"At any place or time," I answered, confidently. "It is an absolute means of identification, quite as much so as a gla.s.s eye would be in a man's face."

"Very good. We'll find that hand-organ, then, if we have to go through 'Little Italy' with a drag-net. How beautifully the problem is working out!--almost too beautifully."

At the incoming baggage-room Indiman presented the check numbered 18329. A porter appeared with a large trunk loaded on a truck. "City transfer?" he asked.

"No, I'll take it with me," said Indiman. "Thorp, will you get a hack."

We were about to drive off, and I felt for my match-box. Provoking! I must have left it at home, and I wanted a cigarette. "One moment," I called, and jumped out, having caught sight of Ellison, who had been with me in college. He was hurrying into the station. I should be glad to have a word with him and secure a match at the same time. But somehow I missed him in making my way through the swinging doors.

Ellison was nowhere to be seen, and I had to content myself with getting a light at the cigar counter. I went back to the carriage and climbed in.

"It was Ellison," I explained. "A good chap, and I should have liked to meet him."

"Some other time, perhaps," said Indiman, politely, and we drove off.

"So you've got it," I said, staring up at the trunk that occupied the box at the hackman's left. "It looks ordinary enough."

"The porter told me that it came in last night on the Lake Sh.o.r.e Limited," said Indiman. "Nothing remarkable about that, either."

A sudden thought struck me. "By Jove! we're no better than thieves," I said, frowningly. "The possession of a baggage-check doesn't necessarily carry with it the owners.h.i.+p of the parcel for which it calls. The rightful proprietor may be even now at the Grand Central explaining the loss of the check and trying to identify his property."

Indiman looked a little blank. "Of course, your obvious theory may be the true one," he said, slowly. "The hunting of mare's-nests is a weakness of mine. But what are you about there?"

"Telling the driver to take us back to the station," I answered, with my hand on the check-cord.

"I don't know about doing that--just now. There might be some awkward explanations to make to your hypothetical owner. Or, failing him, to the police."

"It doesn't absolutely follow," he continued, "that there is an owner or that he is anxious to claim and recover his property. He may have substantial reasons for wanting to get rid of it. Remember that the baggage-check was handed in at my door with the express direction that it was to be given to the gentleman of the house. We'll have to see it through, I think."