"Lem Wacker subbed for him once, didn't he?" inquired Bart pointedly. "Yes, for a day or two--say! you don't think--" began the watchman, with a start of suspicion. "I'm not thinking anything positive," interrupted Bart--"I am only seeking information. When Wacker subbed for the old switchman, did he have a special key?" "N--no," answered the watchman hesitatingly, "for I remember Wacker loaned me the old switchman's key the first night. Hold on, though!" cried McCarthy with a spurt of memory, "it comes back to me clear now. The next night he told me to keep the key till the old switchman came back on duty--so he must have had an extra one of his own. They are easily got--it's a common, ordinary lock." Bart's lips shut close. He went outside, looked keenly around, and jumped down from the platform. The watchman trailed out after him, watching him in a worried, discouraged way. There was no doubting the word of a trusted employee like McCarthy, and Bart realized that he felt very badly over the matter. "What is it, Stirling--have you found anything?" asked the watchman eagerly, as Bart, after inspecting the roadway, still more narrowly regarded the edges of the platform boards, running his finger over them in a critical way. "Yes, I have," announced Bart--"that trunk was taken away from here in a wagon." "How do you know?" "Look at those fresh wheel tracks," directed Bart, pointing to the road. "They sided a wagon up to the platform, right here. So close, that a wheel or the body of the wagon scraped along the edges of the boards. The paint was fresh. And it was bright red," added Bart. "You're a good one to guess that out," muttered the watchman. "Why, say--" McCarthy gave a prodigious start and put his hand up to his head, as if some idea had occurred to him with tremendous force. "You mentioned Lem Wacker. It's funny, but last week Wacker bought a new wagon." "Are you sure of that?" "Yes, it was the same one that his scapegrace nephew, Dale Wacker, was caught peddling the stolen pickles in. I saw Lem painting it fresh out in his shop only two days ago. You know I live just beyond him." "What color?" "Red." "Then Lem Wacker must know something about this burglary!" declared Bart. CHAPTER XVI AT FAULT "I am sorry," again said the night watchman, after a long thoughtful silence on the part of Bart. "I know you are, Mr. McCarthy," returned Bart, "but nobody blames you. I've got to get back that trunk, though! you are positive about Lem Wacker's wagon being newly painted?" "Oh, sure." "And red?" "Yes, a bright red. Wacker lives near us, as I said. I strolled down the alley day before yesterday. I saw his shed doors open, and Wacker putting on the paint. I remember even joking him about his experience in painting the town the same color once in awhile. He took that as a compliment, Lem did. It seems he traded for the wagon some time ago. He told me he was going to start an express company of his own."