“He’s taking a chance—coming here now.”
“Oh, he’s let his whiskers grow, and I suppose he thinks that disguises him. He’s had a hold over me, Joe, but I’m glad to say he hasn’t any longer. I won’t go into details, but I will say that he had me in his power. Now I’m out.”
“So he used to rob travelers’ baggage, did he?”
“Yes, and he does yet I guess, when he gets the chance. Jewelry is his specialty. I remember once he was telling me of a job he did.
“It was at a small station. I forget just where. Anyhow this fellow—Hogan is one of his names—he pretended to be a railroad freight brakeman. You know they are rather roughly dressed, for their work is not very clean. Well, he got a chance to open a certain valise. I remember it because he said it was such an odd bag.”
Joe felt a queer sensation. It was as though he had heard this same story years before. Yet he knew what it meant—what it was leading to—as well as if it had all been printed out.
“Hogan made a good haul, as he called it,” went on Pop. “He thought he was going to have a lot of trouble opening the bag when he came into the station pretending he wanted a drink of water. It was a foreign-make valise, he said, but it opened easier than he thought and he got a watch and a lot of trinkets that ladies like.”
“He did?” asked Joe, and his voice sounded strange, even to himself.
“Yes. Why, do you know anything about it?” asked Pop in some surprise.
“I might,” said Joe, trying to speak calmly. “Would you remember how this bag looked if I told you?”