A few minutes later Harrington turned from the phone, a grave look upon his face. “Just as I thought,” he said; “it ain’t a joke at all. Bill Warren says he’s willin’ to swear that he sent that watch—says he can produce two witnesses who saw him put the watch in the package, seal it up, and hand it in at the post-office registry window.”
He hurriedly donned his hat and coat. “That watch has been stole—stole from the U-nited States mails. That’s a serious offense. I’m goin’ right around to the post office to make a complaint. All these gentlemen here are witnesses that the watch wasn’t in the package when I opened it.”
The following day Carrier Owen Sheridan was placed under arrest by two United States post-office inspectors.
“We want you, Sheridan,” they said, accosting him in the doorway of Branch X Y, as he came back from his noon-delivery tour.
“Want me? What for?” he demanded, in great astonishment.
“For robbing the mails. No use throwing any bluff; we’ve got you dead to rights.”
“I suppose this has to do with that watch which was missing from the registered package yesterday,” said Owen calmly. “But why suspect me in particular? The package passed through many hands while in the post office.”
“Yes, but only one pair of hands opened it and stole its contents,” was the grim retort, “and those hands were yours, Mr. Sheridan. Otherwise, how could the pawn ticket have got into your trunk?”
“The pawn ticket?” repeated Owen blankly.
“Yes. We have just come from your boarding house. We went there to look your room over; and we found—this.”