Ralph on the Overland Express/8
CHAPTER VIII
AN ASTONISHING DISCOVERY
The young engineer of No. 999 faced a new mystery, a sharp suspicion darted through his mind. He recalled instantly several queer breaks that the special passenger had made in his conversation.
"Your cousin, is he?" observed Ralph thoughtfully.
"That's what he is," affirmed Dave Bissell.
"And his name is Fred Porter?"
"Always has been," declared Dave. "Why, something up? Humph! I can guess. Bet he's been up to some of his old tricks. He always was a joker and full of mischief."
"Tell me more about him," suggested Ralph.
"Why, there isn't much to tell," said Dave. "He and I were raised at Earlville. His parents both died several years ago, and he wandered around a good deal. This is the first I've seen of him for over two years."
"Might you not be mistaken—facial resemblance?"
"Not much," observed Dave staunchly. "Think I don't recognize my own relatives? Why, didn't you notice how he acted?"
"Yes, surprised."
"No, scared," corrected Dave, "and ran away."
"Why?" demanded Ralph.
"Well, from your seeming to know him under another name, I should say because he is found out. What game has he been playing on you, Fairbanks?"
"He has done me more good than harm," evaded Ralph. "I've only known him since yesterday."
"Well, he has run away, that's certain. That bothers me. Fred Porter was never a sneak or a toward. He was full of jolly mischief and fun, but a better friend no fellow ever had."
"He struck me that way," said Ralph. "I hope he'll come back. There's my engine coming, and I'll have to go on duty. Try and find him, Dave, will you?"
"If I can."
"And if you find him, tell him I must see him before we leave Bridgeport."
"All right."
Ralph picked up the lunch package that his odd acquaintance had dropped and moved along the platform to where No. 999 had run. The locomotive was backed to the coaches and the relief engineer stepped to the platform.
"I say," he projected in an undertone to Ralph, "what's up with Fogg?"
"Is there anything?" questioned Ralph evasively.
"Dizzy in the headlight and wobbly in the drivers, that's all," came the response, with a wink.
Ralph's heart sank as he entered the cab. Its atmosphere was freighted with the fumes of liquor, and a single glance at the fireman convinced him that Fogg was very far over the line of sobriety. Ralph hardly knew how to take Fogg. The latter nodded briefly and turned away, pretending to occupy himself looking from the cab window. Ralph could not resist the impulse to try and break down the wall of reserve between them. He stepped over to the fireman's side and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"See here, Fogg," he said in a friendly tone, "I've got to say something or do something to square accounts for your help in routing that crowd this morning."
"Don't you speak of it!" shot out the fireman fiercely. "It's over and done, isn't it? Let it drop."
"All right," laughed Ralph genially. "Say, I saw a dispatch in the Bridgeport paper to day from Stanley Junction that ought to make you feel pretty good."
"Did?" snapped Fogg, determinedly antagonistic and stubbornly keeping his face turned away.
"Yes. It gave the list of names of those in our district who passed an examination as school teachers."
Ralph observed that a tremor ran through the fireman's frame at this intelligence.
"Who—who was in it?' he questioned, his voice hoarse and tense.
"Two from the Junction."
"Two?"
"Yes, and the one who led with the highest average was your daughter, Nellie."
"I—I don't deserve it!" fairly sobbed the fireman, getting up suddenly and striving to hide his emotion. "Boy!" and he trembled all over as he now faced Ralph, "I'm steamed up again, as you can plainly see. I won't deny it, but I had to, I couldn't fire a mile unless I steamed up, but I'll say one thing with truth—I've got no bottle in the cab."
"That's good, Mr. Fogg," said Ralph.
"And never will have again, and you've seen the last signs of the dirty stuff on me. I'm going home to make a new start."
"Heaven bless you in your new resolution, Mr. Fogg!" cried Ralph, his own tones none too steady.
"I'll—I'll have something to say to you after we get home," continued Fogg. "Just leave me alone till then."
Something was working on the mind of the fireman, this was very plain—something for good, Ralph fervently hoped. The young engineer took his cue promptly. During all the trip to Stanley Junction he avoided all conversation except commonplace routine remarks. Up to the time of leaving Bridgeport Ralph had waited expectantly for some sign of the youth he had known as Marvin Clark. Clark or Porter, his new acquaintance did not put in an apeparance, nor did Dave Bissell return.
"Dave did not succeed in finding him," decided Ralph, as No. 999 started up. "I'm sorry." Dave had been pretty positive as to the identity of his cousin, and the elusive actions of his relative seemed to verify his recognition.
"Traveling under false colors, I fear," reflected the young engineer. "A pretty bold and difficult imposture, I should think. Are his credentials false or stolen? But how to explain his motive? He doesn't like railroading, and the system and the vouchers he is at so much trouble to get and preserve make this business decidedly mysterious. If it wasn't for those features, I would feel it my duty to report the affair and notify the real Marvin Clark, if there is one."
Ralph had both mind and hands full during the trip. As to Fogg, he went straight about his duties, grimly silent and mechanically. As the fire and vim of stimulation died down, Ralph could see that it was with the most exhaustive effort that his fireman kept up his nerve and strength. Fogg was weak and panting the last shovel full of coal he threw into the furnace, as they sighted Stanley Junction. He was as limp as a rag, and looked wretched as the train rolled into the depot.
They ran the locomotive to the roundhouse. Ralph went at once to the foreman's office, while Fogg attended to the stalling of No. 999. He found the night watchman asleep there and no orders on the blackboard for Fogg or himself. This meant that they need not report before noon.
Ralph looked around for the fireman when he came out of the office, but the latter had disappeared, probably headed for home. Ralph, half-across the turntable, halted and went over to No. 999.
"The vest of that mysterious new acquaintance of mine, Clark—Porter," said Ralph—"he said he left it in the locomotive."
Ralph did not find the article in question in his own bunker. He threw back the cover of Fogg's box, to discover the vest neatly folded up at the botttom of that receptacle. With some curiosity he looked over its pockets.
"Whew!" whistled Ralph, as he removed and opened the only article it contained—a check book. The checks were upon a bank at Newton. About half of what the book had originally contained had been removed. Examining the stubs, Ralph calculated that over $1,000 had been deposited at the bank in the name of Marvin Clark, and that fully half that amount had been checked out.
"This is pretty serious," commented the young engineer. "It looks as if the impostor has not only stolen Clark's name, but his passes and his check book as well. I don't like the looks of this. There's something here I can't figure out."
Ralph placed the check book in his own pocket and returned the vest to the box. As he did this, he disturbed a piece of cloth used by Fogg to wipe grease from the cab valves. Something unfamiliar to the touch was outlined wrapped up in the rag, and Ralph explored.
Two objects came into view as he opened the piece of cloth. With a great gasp the young engineer stared at these. Then he rolled up the rag and placed it and its contents in his pocket.
His face grew grave, and Ralph uttered a deep sigh, startled and sorrowful.
The young engineer of No. 999 had made a discovery so strange, so unexpected, that it fairly took his breath away.
The mystery of the collision on the siding at Plympton was disclosed.