The Argosy, January 1907 — page 196: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

378 Before them lay a sea of postage- stamps ! : There were sheets of a hundred five- cent stamps—there were sheets of a hun- dred ten-cent stamps—there were sheets of one hundred two-cent stamps! Not dozens of sheets, but literally hundreds upon hundreds of them, packed tightly, and representing thousands of dollars. “Tom,” said Bridger slowly, when the first amazement had passed, ‘“ you've been mistaken for a United States post- office—that is all.” ‘* But—but = ‘Or else—some one is making or stealing postage-stamps by the million! By jiminy! There zs something in this, after all!” He stared at the array for a minute or two; then he ran quickly and method- ically through the pile. “Three thousand seven hundred dol- lars’ worth here!” he announced. Whereafter he walked slowly to the doctor’s armchair and sat smoking si- lently, and Jordan forbore to interrupt his meditations. “Why,” said Bridger presently— ‘““why were those letters marked XX?” Jordan shook his head. Another long pause followed. “ Fennell — Fennell — Fennell — Fennell!’ muttered Bridger. For six or seven minutes the clock ticked loudly. Then Bridger suddenly sat up. “Tom, how long has that servant-girl been with you? ”’ “ Eh? What? Why, | about _ five years.” ‘Good! . Have -her up here, will you?” , Jordan, wondering, touched the bell, and an instant later the maid appeared. ‘Look here, my girl,” said Bridger sharply, “you know the man who de- livers mail on this route?” “Why, yes, sir.” “Would I be right in guessing that a new man has been put on within the past four weeks—eh?” Ven sits. The detective’s face began to shine. ‘The man who was on the route be- fore that had been here a long time?” “He was at this house every day for four years, at every delivery.” THE ARGOSY. ‘Good! Know his name?” “It was Johnson, sir.” ~ better yet!” “cried Bridger. _-“~ Do you happen to know where he is now?” ‘Yes, sir, he’s in the hospital. He has been there for more than three weeks, with typhoid fever.” “ That’s all.” When the door had closed behind the girl the detective jumped from his chair and dealt the doctor a resounding slap on the back. — ‘Got it cinched, I verily believe! ” “But what—what e “Never you mind what!” laughed Bridger jubilantly. “But if I’m not back here within two hours, with the solution down in writing—well, I miss my guess!” Jordan stared hard—and Bridger was gone. He had learned the ins and outs of Craftsburg with fair thoroughness dur- ing his incognito vacation, and within a very few minutes he was seated in the car that would land him at the corner of the General Hospital. *k ae 7K ok 2k The maid’s eyes were white and ex- cited as she opened the door to the de- tective. ‘Why, sir—the doctor’s—the doctor’s arrested!’ she whispered. “Is he?” said Bridger casually. “They haven’t taken him away?” ‘No, sir. They've been waiting in there—this last hour or more,” she con- tinued breathlessly. “That’s all right, then. They’re wait- ing for me. I’m next in line to be ar- rested.”’ He walked straight into the office, smiling. Jordan, puzzled and frowning, sat toward the corner of the room. At either side a wary man in citizen’s rai- ment was perched upon a chair. At his entrance one of them arose quickly and walked toward him, a folded paper in hand. ‘ “ Richard Standish,” he said, ‘“ I have a warrant for your arrest, on the charge of complicity in recent thefts from post- offices all over the country! Your com- panion here is also under arrest.”’ “Really?” said the detective; ‘“ but ” * pee .OO 5 CONMUC (E@)