CHAPTER XXIII
A RIVAL CONCERN
"I call that extraordinary," declared Bob Haven.
"Certainly a sensational and a puzzling piece of business," echoed his brother, Darry.
"It is the best news I have had for a long time," said Frank, buoyantly. "I tell you, fellows, you don't know what a load it has lifted from my mind."
"I should think so," nodded Darry—"to get back all that two hundred dollars, when you had given it up as lost."
It was ten o'clock in the morning. Frank's clothing was covered with dust. His eyes looked tired and sleepy. Upon the receipt of the telegram at Essex, he had hitched up the horse promptly and started for Pleasantville.
Darry welcomed him with effusion, and he and Bob at once led Frank into their little editorial sanctum.
There were some quick developments, and now Frank sat, a queerly decorated sheet of paper in his hand. On the table before him was the wallet which had disappeared four days previous with Markham.
"Tell your story all over again, slowly and carefully," said Frank to Darry. "It's something to get back that money, but it's a good deal more to find out what has become of Markham."
"Well," said Darry, "it's just as I told you. Yesterday noon in our mail we found that letter you have. As you see, it has an envelope bearing our name and address printed. We send these out when we solicit business, and I supposed it was some new customer asking an estimate on a printing job. Judge of my surprise, when I found enclosed that letter."
"Yes," murmured Frank, "it's a queer-looking affair."
"You can see how it was put together. It must have taken hours for its sender to cut all kinds of letters from a printed newspaper, and slowly and patiently paste them onto that blank sheet. Letter by letter he built up those words and sentences."
Frank once more read over the letter in his hands, which ran:
"tell frAnk newTon Money is beHind coAl BoX, thiRd flooR, YoUr buiLDiNg—mARkHAm."
"Well," resumed Darry," Bob and I went up stairs here at once. None of the offices on the third floor has been occupied for a long time. In the hall is a big box with a slanting cover, to hold fuel for tenants in winter time. Everything was dirty, and plainly across the dusty box cover it showed where someone had recently rested, or been pushed over against the wall. We pulled out the box. Sure enough, in the four-inch space behind the box was your money."
"Then a hot wire, and here you are," observed Bob briskly.
"See here, fellows," said Frank, "I think I can figure this thing out."
"Go ahead," encouraged Darry.
"Markham sent that letter. He didn't write, because he had no pencil. A pencil is usually an easy thing to get, so he must have been shut up somewhere. He found in his pocket a sheet of paper—"
"Oh, by the way," here interrupted Darry," I forgot to explain something. I recognize the sheet of paper as a blank sample I gave Markham, enclosed in that same envelope, stamped, to give to Mr. Dawes up at the novelty works when he went there again. Mr. Dawes asked for a sample of one linen letter paper. If he wanted a lot, he was to write the amount on the sheet, and mail to us."
"Well," continued Frank," somehow Markham made paste—probably out of a piece of bread. He compiled that letter."
"But how did he get it mailed?" suggested Bob.
"Suppose he was a prisoner, and threw it from a window into the road, chancing its discovery and mailing by some passer-by."
"That's so," nodded Darry. "I believe you are correct in your conclusions, Frank. As to the mailing lists, which Markham also had with him, that's a later mystery to develop."
"Now then," spoke Frank, "I think I can also figure out something else. I believe that Dale Wacker followed Markham. He was probably right on his heels when Markham entered this building. Markham saw him, got scared, and, to evade him, ran up to the third floor. There he found no rooms open to hide in. He was cornered, intimidated, maybe attacked by Wacker. He thought of that two hundred dollars, and dropped it behind the fuel box. Then—"
Frank paused here, and shook his head in doubt and perplexity.
"Poor Markham," commented Bob. "It looks likely that he is held a prisoner somewhere. Maybe because his captor knows he threw away that package of money, and won't let him go free till he tells where. Anyhow, he's a good one, surmounting all the difficulties of his situation and getting that letter to you."
"I suppose you will take up the mail order business actively again, now you are in funds?" suggested Darry.
"Surely," said Frank. "Here, take the money and hurry up the catalogue."
Frank felt immensely relieved as he proceeded to his office. His mind, however, was full of plans looking to the discovery of Markham's place of captivity.
The letter had been mailed at Hazelhurst, a mining town about thirty miles distant. Frank noted this fact, determining to make that town the starting point of his investigations, as soon as he got present pressing business in such a shape that he might leave the office in charge of his mother for a day or two.
Mrs. Ismond was very happy over Frank's return, and greatly pleased over the recovery of the missing money. She had quite an encouraging report to make concerning orders received during that day and the one preceding.
"Oh, by the way, Frank," she said, suddenly recollecting something, "here is a letter addressed to you marked 'personal.' I found it pushed under the office door this morning."
"It's from Stet," said Frank, glancing at the enclosure, which interested him very much.
"On account of our strained relations," wrote Stet, "being ordered from your premises and kicked out of Haven Bros., I have wormed myself into the confidence of Dale Wacker. He has rented a room in the Main Street Block, and started into the mail order business. An old fellow is sending out circulars for him, and they have got a bunch of printed matter from the Eagle Job Print, and he ordered one thousand watches from the city last night."