“Enough to put the master mechanic on his mettle,” objected the veteran engineer. “He’s going to call all hands on the carpet. Had me in yesterday afternoon. He showed me your conductor’s report wired from Bridgeport. It throws all the blame on Adams, the new station man at Plympton. The conductor declares it was all his fault—‘color blind,’ see? Master mechanic had Adams down there yesterday.”
“Surely no action is taken yet?” inquired Ralph anxiously.
“No, but I fancy Adams will go. It’s a plain case, I think. Your signals were special and clear right of way, that’s sure. Danforth is ready to swear to that. Adams quite as positively swears that the green signals on the locomotive were set on a call for the siding. He broke down and cried like a child when it was hinted that a discharge from the service was likely.” 84
“Poor fellow, I must see the master mechanic at once,” said Ralph.
“You’ll have to, for your explanation goes with him and will settle the affair. You see, it seems that Adams had broken up his old home and gone to the trouble and expense of moving his family to Plympton. Now, to be let out would be a pretty hard blow to him. Of course, though, if he is color blind––”
“He is not color blind!” cried Ralph, with so much earnestness that Griscom stared at him strangely.
“Aha! so you say that, do you?” observed the old engineer, squinting his eyes suspiciously. “Then—Fogg. Tricks, I’ll bet!”
“I’ll talk to you later, Mr. Griscom,” said Ralph.
“Good, I want to know, and I see you have something to tell.”
The young engineer had, indeed, considerable to tell when the time came to justify the disclosures. He was worried as to how he should tell it, and to whom. Ralph sat down in the little vine-embowered summer-house in the garden, and had a good hard spell of thought. Then, as his hand went into his pocket and rested on the piece of cloth with its enclosure which he had found in Fogg’s bunker on No. 999, he started 85 from his seat, a certain firm, purposeful expression on his face.