Jim Cummings | Page 7

Pinkerton, don't ask me to repeat my story again. I have told it
time after time. I have been cross-questioned, and turned and twisted
until I almost believe I committed the robbery myself, tied my own
hands and feet, put the gag in my own mouth, and hid the money some
place."
Mr. Pinkerton did not answer him, but gazing at him with those sharp,
far-seeing eyes, which had ferreted out so many crimes, and had made
so many criminals tremble, took in every detail of Fotheringham's
features, as if reading his very soul. Fotheringham leaned back, closed
his eyes wearily, as if it were a matter of the smallest consequence what
might occur, and remained in that position until Mr. Pinkerton spoke.
"Mr. Fotheringham, I don't believe you had anything to do with the
robbery, except being robbed."
"Thank God for those words, Mr. Pinkerton," exclaimed the messenger
in broken tones, the tears welling to his eyes. "That's the first bit of
comfort I've had since the dastardly villain first knocked me down."

"Can you not give me some peculiarity which you noticed about this
Cummings? How did he talk?"
"Slowly, with a very pleasant voice."
"Did he have any marks about him--any scars?"
Fotheringham sat in deep thought for a while.
"He had a triangular gold filling on one of his front teeth, and he had a
way of hanging his head a little to one side, as if he were deaf, but I did
not see any scars, excepting a bit of court-plaster on one of the fingers
of his right hand."
"Was he disguised at all?"
"Not a bit, at least I could see no disguise on him."
"How did he walk?"
"Very erect, and, yes, I noticed he limped a little, as if he had a sore
foot."
"I see by this report," taking up the papers Mr. Damsel had left, "that
you have given a very close and full description of his appearance, but
that amounts to little. Disguises are easy, and the mere changing of
clothing will effect a great difference."
"I am positive, from his features, that he was a hard drinker. He had
been drinking before he came to the car, as I smelled it on his breath."
"Well, Mr. Fotheringham, I will not detain you any longer. If you are
innocent, you know you have nothing to fear."
"Except the disgrace of being arrested."
"Possibly," said Mr. Pinkerton, shortly, and bowing his visitor out, he
pondered long and deeply over the case; but he felt he was groping in
the dark, for the robber had apparently left no trace behind him. He had
appeared on the scene, done his work, and the dark shadows of the
night had swallowed him up, and Mr. Pinkerton, for the time, was
completely baffled.
"If he would only write that letter," he muttered, "and I believe he
will--"
A tap at the door followed these words, and two men entered--both
Pinkerton detectives.
One of them carried a bundle in his arms.
As Mr. Pinkerton caught sight of it, his face lightened up.
"Ah! You did get it?"
"Yes; found them in a ditch the other side of Kirkwood."

Mr. Pinkerton laughed, and taking the bundle, said:
"Mr. Damsel said they could not be found; but I knew you, Chip. It was
a good move on your part to go after these clothes without waiting for
orders. You are starting in well, my boy, and if you have the making of
a detective in you, this case will bring it out."
Chip blushed. Such words of praise from his superior were worth
working for. The youngest man on the force, he had his spurs to win,
and the approbation of his chief was reward enough.
The bundle was untied, and disclosed a shirt, a pair of drawers, socks
and a dirty handkerchief. As the clothing fell on the floor, the odor of
some sort of liniment filled the room, and on the leg of the drawers,
below the knee, a stain was seen. Examining it more closely, a little
clotted blood was seen. The stain extended half way around the leg, and
showed that the cut or bruise was quite an extensive one.
"No wonder he limped," said Mr. Pinkerton, as he dropped the drawers
and picked up the handkerchief.
The handkerchief, a common linen one, had evidently been used as a
bandage, for it was stained with the liniment, and covered with blood
clots. In one corner had been written a name, but the only letters now
readable were "W--r--k."
This was placed on the table and the shirt carefully examined.
Nothing, not even the maker's name, could be seen. It was a cheap shirt,
such as could be bought at any store which labels everything