Only with difficulty did Jack avoid betraying himself. It was the voice of the man “Watts”!
“What is it?” inquired a second voice.
Through a crack a light appeared. “Silk,” announced Watts.
“A good weight, too,” he added, tipping the box. “Catch hold.”
The packing-case was caught up; and rocked and jolted, Jack felt himself carried for what he judged a full quarter-mile. As the men slowed up a gleam of moonlight showed through the knot-hole, and peering forth he discovered a tree-lined road, and a two-horse wagon.
Sliding the box into the rear of the wagon, and well to the front, the men disappeared. The wait that followed was to Jack the most trying experience of the evening. Had the detective safely landed? Was there not a possibility of the larger box having been shattered? Or sufficiently broken to reveal its true contents, and disclose the plot to the freight-robbers? And what then would be his fate?
These and many other disquieting possibilities passed through Jack’s mind, causing him several times as the minutes went by to finger the hooks and buttons which would permit of his escape. Finally snapping twigs, then heavy, stumbling footfalls allayed his anxiety, and the two men reappeared, staggering under the box containing the officer.
With difficulty the unsuspecting thieves raised the heavy packing-case to the tail-board of the wagon.
“It won’t go in,” said Watts’ companion.
“Push this way a little,” Watts directed.