The Blind Man's Eyes

  CHAPTER II

  THE EXPRESS IS HELD FOR A PERSONAGE

  On the morning of the eleventh day, Bob Connery, special conductor forthe Coast division of one of the chief transcontinentals, was havinglate breakfast on his day off at his little cottage on the shore ofPuget Sound, when he was treated to the unusual sight of a largetouring car stopping before his door. The car carried no one but thechauffeur, however, and he at once made it plain that he came only as amessage-bearer when he hurried from the car to the house with anenvelope in his hand. Connery, meeting him at the door, opened theenvelope and found within an order in the handwriting of the presidentof the railroad and over his signature.

  Connery:

  No. 5 being held at Seattle terminal until nine o'clock--will run onehour late. This is your authority to supersede the regular man asconductor--prepared to go through to Chicago. You will facilitateevery desire and obey, when possible, any request even as to running ofthe train, which may be made by a passenger who will identify himselfby a card from me.

  H. E. JARVIS.

  The conductor, accustomed to take charge of trains when princes,envoys, presidents and great people of any sort took to travel publiclyor privately, fingered the heavy cream-colored note-paper upon whichthe order was written and looked up at the chauffeur.

  The order itself was surprising enough even to Connery. Some passengerof extraordinary influence, obviously, was to take the train; not onlythe holding of the transcontinental for an hour told this, but therewas the further plain statement that the passenger would be incognito.Astonishing also was the fact that the order was written upon privatenote-paper. There had been a monogram at the top of the sheet, but ithad been torn off; that would not have been if Mr. Jarvis had sent theorder from home. Who could have had the president of the road callupon him at half past seven in the morning and have told Mr. Jarvis tohold the Express for an hour?

  Connery, having served for twenty of his forty-two years under Mr.Jarvis, and the last five, at least, in almost a confidential capacity,was certain of the distinctive characters of the president'shandwriting. The enigma of the order, however, had piqued him so thathe pretended doubt.

  "Where did you get this?" he challenged the chauffeur.

  "From Mr. Jarvis."

  "Of course; but where?"

  "You mean you want to know where he was?"

  Connery smiled quietly. If he himself was trusted to be cautious andcircumspect, the chauffeur also plainly was accustomed to be in theemploy of one who required reticence. Connery looked from the note tothe bearer more keenly. There was something familiar in thechauffeur's face--just enough to have made Connery believe, at first,that probably he had seen the man meeting some passenger at the station.

  "You are--" Connery ventured more casually.

  "In private employ; yes, sir," the man cut off quickly. Then Conneryknew him; it was when Gabriel Warden traveled on Connery's train thatthe conductor had seen this chauffeur; this was Patrick Corboy, who haddriven Warden the night he was killed. But Connery, having won hispoint, knew better than to show it. "Waiting for a receipt from me?"he asked as if he had abandoned his curiosity.

  The chauffeur nodded. Connery took a sheet of paper, wrote on it,sealed it in an envelope and handed it over; the chauffeur hastenedback to his car and drove off. Connery, order in hand, stood at thedoor watching the car depart. He whistled softly to himself.Evidently his passenger was to be one of the great men in Easternfinance who had been brought West by Warden's death. As the cardisappeared, Connery gazed off to the Sound.

  The March morning was windy and wet, with a storm blowing in from thePacific. East of the mountains--in Idaho and Montana--there was snow,and a heavy fall of it, as the conductor well knew from the long listof incoming trains yesterday stalled or badly overdue; but at Seattle,so far, only rain or a soft, sloppy sleet had appeared. Through thisrose the smoke from tugs and a couple of freighters putting out inspite of the storm, and from further up Eliot Bay reverberated the roarof the steam-whistle of some large ship signaling its intention to passanother to the left. The incoming vessel loomed in sight and showedthe graceful lines, the single funnel and the white- and red-barredflag of the Japanese line, the Nippon Yusen Kaisha. Connery saw thatit was, as he anticipated, the _Tamba Maru_, due two days before,having been delayed by bad weather over the Pacific. It would dock,Connery estimated, just in time to permit a passenger to catch theEastern Express if that were held till nine o'clock. So, as hehastened to the car-line, Connery smiled at himself for taking thetrouble to make his earlier surmises. More probably the train wasbeing held just for some party on the boat. Going to the chiefdispatcher's office to confirm understanding of his orders, he foundthat Mr. Jarvis had sent simply the curt command, "Number Five will runone hour late." Connery went down to the trainsheds.

  The Eastern Express, with its gleaming windows, shining brass andspeckless, painted steel, was standing between the sooty,slush-splashed trains which had just struggled in from over themountain; a dozen passengers, tired of waiting on the warm, cushionedseats of the Pullmans, sauntered up and down beside the cars,commenting on the track-conditions which, apparently, prevented evenstarting a train on time. Connery looked these over and then gotaboard the train and went from observation to express car. Travel waslight that trip; in addition to the few on the platform, Connerycounted only fourteen passengers on the train. He scrutinized thesewithout satisfaction; all appeared to have arrived at the train longbefore and to have been waiting. Connery got off and went back to thebarrier.

  Old Sammy Seaton, the gateman, stood in his iron coop twirling a punchabout his finger. Old Sammy's scheme of sudden wealth--every one has aplan by which at any moment wealth may arrive--was to recognize andapprehend some wrongdoer, or some lost or kidnaped person for whom agreat reward would be given. His position at the gate through whichmust pass most of the people arriving at the great Coast city, orwishing to depart from it, certainly was excellent; and by constant andcareful reading of the papers, classifying and memorizing faces, heprepared himself to take advantage of any opportunity. Indeed, in hisyears at the gate, he had succeeded in no less than seven acknowledgedcases in putting the police upon the track of persons "wanted"; these,however, happened to be worth only minor rewards. Sammy still awaitedhis great "strike."

  "Any one off on Number Five, Sammy?" Connery questioned carelessly ashe approached. Sammy's schemes involved the following of the comingsand goings of the great as well as of the "wanted."

  Old Sammy shook his head. "What're we holding for?" he whispered."Ah--for them?"

  A couple of station-boys, overloaded with hand-baggage, scurried infrom the street; some one shouted for a trunk-truck, and baggagemenran. A group of people, who evidently had come to the station incovered cars, crowded out to the gate and lined up to pass old Sammy.The gateman straightened importantly and scrutinized each personpresenting a ticket. Much of the baggage carried by the boys, and alsothe trunks rushed by on the trucks, bore foreign hotel and steamship"stickers." Connery observed the label of the Miyaka Hotel, Kioto,leaving visible only the "Bombay" of another below it; othersproclaimed "Amoy," "Tonkin," and "Shanghai." This baggage and some ofthe people, at least, undoubtedly had just landed from the _TambaMaru_. Connery inspected with even greater attention the file at thegate and watched old Sammy also as each passed him.

  The first of the five in line was a girl--a girl about twenty-two orthree, Connery guessed. She was of slightly more than medium height,slender and erect in figure, and with slim, gloved hands. She had theeasy, interested air of a person of assured position. She evidentlyhad come to the station in a motor-car which had kept off the sleet,but had let in the wind--a touring-car, possibly, with top up. Herfair cheeks were ruddy and her blue eyes bright; her hair, which wasdeep brown and abundant, was caught back from her brow, giving her amore outdoor and boyish look. When Connery first saw her, she seemedto be accompanying the man who now was behind her
; but she offered herown ticket for perusal at the gate, and as soon as she was through, shehurried on ahead alone.

  Whether or not she had come from the Japanese boat, Connery could nottell; her ticket, at least, disclaimed for her any connection with theforeign baggage-labels, for it was merely the ordinary form calling fortransportation from Seattle to Chicago. Connery was certain he did notknow her. He noticed that old Sammy had held her at the gate as longas possible, as if hoping to recollect who she might be; but now thatshe was gone, the gateman gave his attention more closely to the firstman--a tall, strongly built man, neither heavy nor light, and with apowerful patrician face. His hair and his mustache, which was clippedshort and did not conceal his good mouth, were dark; his brows wereblack and distinct, but not bushy or unpleasantly thick; his eyes werehidden by smoked glasses such as one wears against a glare of snow.

  "Chicago?" old Sammy questioned. Connery knew that it was to draw thevoice in reply; but the man barely nodded, took back his ticket--whichalso was the ordinary form of transportation from Seattle toChicago--and strode on to the train. Connery found his gaze followingthis man; the conductor did not know him, nor had old Sammy recognizedhim; but both were trying to place him. He, unquestionably, was a manto be known, though not more so than many who traveled in thetranscontinental trains.

  A trim, self-assured man of thirty--his open overcoat showed a cutawayunderneath--came past next, proffering the plain Seattle-Chicago ticket.

  An Englishman, with red-veined cheeks, fumbling, clumsy fingers andcurious, interested eyes, immediately followed. To him, plainly, themajority of the baggage on the trucks belonged; he had "booked" thetrain at Hong Kong and seemed pleasantly surprised that his touristticket was instantly accepted. The name upon the strip, "HenryStandish," corresponded with the "H. S., Nottingham," emblazoned on theluggage.

  The remaining man, carrying his own grips, which were not initialed,set them down in the gate and felt in his pocket for his transportation.

  This fifth person had appeared suddenly after the line of four hadformed in front of old Sammy at the gate; he had taken his place withthem only after scrutiny of them and of the station all around. Likethe Englishman's, his ticket was a strip which originally had heldcoupons for the Pacific voyage and some indefinite journey in Asiabefore; unlike the Englishman's,--and his baggage did not bear thepasters of the Nippon Yusen Kaisha,--the ticket was close to the datewhen it would have expired. It bore upon the line where the purchasersigned, the name "Philip D. Eaton" in plain, vigorous characterswithout shading or flourish. An American, and too young to have gaineddistinction in any of the ordinary ways by which men lift themselvesabove others, he still made a profound impression upon Connery. Therewas something about him which said, somehow, that these strips oftransportation were taking him home after a long and troublesomeabsence. He combined, in some strange way, exaltation with weariness.He was, plainly, carefully observant of all that went on about him,even these commonplace formalities connected with taking the train; andConnery felt that it was by premeditation that he was the last to passthe gate.

  As a sudden eddy of the gale about the shed blew the ticket from oldSammy's cold fingers, the young man stooped to recover it. The windblew off his cloth cap as he did so, and as he bent and straightenedbefore old Sammy, the old man suddenly gasped; and while the travelerpulled on his cap, recovered his ticket and hurried down the platformto the train, the gateman stood staring after him as though trying torecall who the man presenting himself as Philip D. Eaton was.

  Connery stepped beside the old man.

  "Who is it, Sammy?" he demanded.

  "Who?" Sammy repeated. His eyes were still fixed on the retreatingfigure. "Who? I don't know."

  The gateman mumbled, repeating to himself the names of the famous, thegreat, the notorious, in his effort to fit one to the man who had justpassed. Connery awaited the result, his gaze following Eaton until hedisappeared aboard the train. No one else belated and bound for theEastern Express was in sight. The president's order to the conductorand to the dispatcher simply had directed that Number Five would runone hour late; it must leave in five minutes; and Connery, guided bythe impression the man last through the gate had made upon him and oldSammy both, had no doubt that the man for whom the train had been heldwas now on board.

  For a last time, the conductor scrutinized old Sammy. The gateman'smumblings were clearly fruitless; if Eaton were not the man's realname, old Sammy was unable to find any other which fitted. As Connerywatched, old Sammy gave it up. Connery went out to the train. Thepassengers who had been parading the platform had got aboard; the lastfive to arrive also had disappeared into the Pullmans, and theirluggage had been thrown into the baggage car. Connery jumped aboard.He turned back into the observation car and then went forward into thenext Pullman. In the aisle of this car the five whom Connery had justwatched pass the gate were gathered about the Pullman conductor,claiming their reservations. Connery looked first at Eaton, who stoodbeside his grips a little apart, but within hearing of the rest; andthen, passing him, he joined the Pullman conductor.

  The three who had passed the gate first--the girl, the man with theglasses and the young man in the cutaway--it had now become clear wereone party. They had had reservations made, apparently, in the name ofDorne; and these reservations were for a compartment and two sectionsin this car, the last of the four Pullmans. As they discussed thedisposition of these, the girl's address to the spectacled man madeplain that he was her father; her name, apparently, was Harriet; theyoung man in the cutaway coat was "Don" to her and "Avery" to herfather. His relation, while intimate enough to permit him to addressthe girl as "Harry," was unfailingly respectful to Mr. Dorne; andagainst them both Dorne won his way; his daughter was to occupy thedrawing-room; he and Avery were to have sections in the open car.

  "You have Sections One and Three, sir," the Pullman conductor told him.And Dorne directed the porter to put Avery's luggage in Section One,his own in Section Three.

  The Englishman who had come by the Japanese steamer was unsupplied witha sleeping-car ticket; he accepted, after what seemed only an automaticand habitual debate on his part, Section Four in Car Three--the nextcar forward--and departed at the heels of the porter. Connery watchedmore closely, as now it came the turn of the young man whose ticketbore the name of Eaton. Like the Englishman with the same sort ofticket from Asia, Eaton had no reservation in the sleepers; heappeared, however, to have some preference as to where he slept.

  "Give me a Three, if you have one," he requested of the Pullmanconductor. His voice, Connery noted, was well modulated, rather deep,distinctly pleasant. At sound of it, Dorne, who with his daughter'shelp was settling himself in his section, turned and looked that wayand said something in a low tone to the girl. Harriet Dorne alsolooked, and with her eyes on Eaton, Connery saw her reply inaudibly,rapidly and at some length.

  "I can give you Three in Car Three, opposite the gentleman I justassigned," the Pullman conductor offered.

  "That'll do very well," Eaton answered in the same pleasant voice.

  As the porter now took his bags, Eaton followed him out of the car.Connery looked around the sleeper; then, having allowed a moment topass so that he would not too obviously seem to be following Eaton, hewent after them into the next car. He expected, rather, that Eatonwould at once identify himself to him as the passenger to whomPresident Jarvis' short note had referred. Eaton, however, paid noattention to him, but was busy taking off his coat and settling himselfin his section as Connery passed.

  The conductor, willing that Eaton should choose his own time foridentifying himself, passed slowly on, looking over the passengers ashe went. The cars were far from full.

  Besides Eaton, Connery saw but half a dozen people in this car: theEnglishman in Section Four; two young girls of about nineteen andtwenty and their parents--uninquisitive-looking, unobtrusive,middle-aged people who possessed the drawing-room; and an alert,red-haired, professional-loo
king man of forty whose baggage was marked"D. S.--Chicago." Connery had had nothing to do with putting Eaton inthis car, but his survey of it gave him satisfaction; if PresidentJarvis inquired, he could be told that Eaton had not been put near toundesirable neighbors. The next car forward, perhaps, would have beeneven better; for Connery saw, as he entered it, that but one of itssections was occupied. The next, the last Pullman, was quite wellfilled; beyond this was the diner. Connery stood a few moments inconversation with the dining car conductor; then he retraced his waythrough the train. He again passed Eaton, slowing so that the youngman could speak to him if he wished, and even halting an instant toexchange a word with the Englishman; but Eaton allowed him to pass onwithout speaking to him. Connery's step quickened as he entered thenext car on his way back to the smoking compartment of the observationcar, where he expected to compare sheets with the Pullman conductorbefore taking up the tickets. As he entered this car, however, Averystopped him.

  "Mr. Dorne would like to speak to you," Avery said. The tone was verylike a command.

  Connery stopped beside the section, where the man with the spectaclessat with his daughter. Dorne looked up at him.

  "You are the train conductor?" he asked, seeming either unsatisfied ofthis by Connery's presence or merely desirous of a formal answer.

  "Yes, sir," Connery replied.

  Dorne fumbled in his inner pocket and brought out a card-case, which heopened, and produced a card. Connery, glancing at the card while theother still held it, saw that it was President Jarvis' visiting card,with the president's name in engraved block letters; across its top waswritten briefly in Jarvis' familiar hand, "_This is the passenger_";and below, it was signed with the same scrawl of initials which hadbeen on the note Connery had received that morning--"_H. R. J._"

  Connery's hand shook as, while trying to recover himself, he took thecard and looked at it more closely, and he felt within him the sinkingsensation which follows an escape from danger. He saw that his tooready and too assured assumption that Eaton was the man to whom Jarvis'note had referred, had almost led him into the sort of mistake which isunpardonable in a "trusted" man; he had come within an ace, herealized, of speaking to Eaton and so betraying the presence on thetrain of a traveler whose journey his superiors were trying to keepsecret.

  "You need, of course, hold the train no longer," Dorne said to Connery.

  "Yes, sir; I received word from Mr. Jarvis about you, Mr. Dorne. Ishall follow his instructions fully." Connery recalled the discussionabout the drawing-room which had been given to Dorne's daughter. "Ishall see that the Pullman conductor moves some one in one of the othercars to have a compartment for you, sir."

  "I prefer a place in the open car," Dorne replied. "I am well situatedhere. Do not disturb any one."

  As he went forward again after the train was under way, Connery triedto recollect how it was that he had been led into such a mistake, anddefending himself, he laid it all to old Sammy. But old Sammy was notoften mistaken in his identifications. If Eaton was not the person forwhom the train was held, might he be some one else of importance? Nowas he studied Eaton, he could not imagine what had made him accept thispassenger as a person of great position. It was only when he passedEaton a third time, half an hour later, when the train had long leftSeattle, that the half-shaped hazards and guesses about the passengersuddenly sprang into form. Connery stood and stared back. Eaton didnot look like any one whom he remembered having seen; but he fittedperfectly some one whose description had been standing for ten days inevery morning and evening edition of the Seattle papers. Yes, allowingfor a change of clothes and a different way of brushing his hair, Eatonwas exactly the man whom Warden had expected at his house and who hadcome there and waited while Warden, away in his car, was killed.

  Connery was walking back through the train, absent-minded in trying todecide whether he could be at all sure of this from the mere printeddescription, and trying to decide what he should do if he felt sure,when Mr. Dorne stopped him.

  "Conductor, do you happen to know," he questioned, "who the young manis who took Section Three in the car forward?"

  Connery gasped; but the question put to him the impossibility of hisbeing sure of any recognition from the description. "He gave his nameon his ticket as Philip D. Eaton, sir," Connery replied.

  "Is that all you know about him?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "If you find out anything about him, let me know," Dorne bade.

  "Yes, sir." Connery moved away and soon went back to look again atEaton. Had Mr. Dorne also seen the likeness of Eaton in the publisheddescriptions of the man whom Warden had said was most outrageouslywronged? the man for whom Warden had been willing to risk his life, whoafterwards had not dared to come forward to aid the police withanything he might know? Connery determined to let nothing interferewith learning more of Eaton; Dorne's request only gave him addedresponsibility.

  Dorne, however, was not depending upon Connery alone for furtherinformation. As soon as the conductor had gone, he turned back to hisdaughter and Avery upon the seat opposite.

  "Avery," he said in a tone of direction, "I wish you to get inconversation with this Philip Eaton. It will probably be useful if youlet Harriet talk with him too. She would get impressions helpful to mewhich you can't."

  The girl started with surprise but recovered at once. "Yes, Father,"she said.

  "What, sir?" Avery ventured to protest.