"No one has been here to see him since I came. No; he is just a big boob, with this love-stuff working overtime."
"Has anything whatever—however insignificant—happened that would connect him with the disappearance of the dynamite?"
"No, not the least thing—the claim agent and I went over that several times. There is a certain low cunning in him, a disposition to be tricky in small things, but there's nothing to him—just grease. Of course, he has the wires here all night, and I may underestimate him. By the use of a code he might pull off something."
"Did the company accept his resignation?"
"Yes; they had to."
"And you don't attach any importance to his going now, further than this love affair?"
Before he could reply the train he flagged for orders pulled past the station. He obligingly took the tissue order pad out on the platform for the conductor to sign. While he was gone I raised the burlap skirt covering from the box. It stuck and I had to pull it loose to get it up. It was undoubtedly a molasses case, a can that had fermented or been punctured and had run out at the corners, but to be sure I took my pencil point, gouged some of the stuff off the side, sniffed and then tasted it. It was mixed with grit and dirt, but it tasted sweet and I was satisfied.
"Ben, take a walk over to the quarry switch with me. I've got to get the numbers of three cars standing there. I will introduce you to the head quarry man and he will tell you all he knows about it—and that's nothing at all. Still you might get a pointer there," he added.
To this I assented without comment, but wondered why he was so careful to put everything in the safe and lock it; also the office door, when the big center sash of the bay-window facing the main track was entirely raised.