"I want to get out!" HE fall of John Middleton from the sunny heights of renown was broken by a brief lodgment on an obscure peg in the postal service. Though still a young man, he had enjoyed a varied experience, and, like many others traveling the downward road from better days, affected to hold in supreme contempt the humble position which now supplied him with bread. Sharp, reticent, unprincipled, and an adept in trickery and chicanery, he found in the lower strata of frontier politics a field well suited to the exercise of his gifts, and early began to look forward to high preferment as within easy reach of talents like his. But, as often happens where advancement is sought at the expense of virtue, dissipation with its concomitant vices grew so much more rapidly than honors, that he was unhorsed by bad habits near the outset of the race. Before reaching thirty, Middleton had managed a number of jobs in the legislative lobby; had made several visits to Washington to represent the interests of sundry bands of philanthropists whose hearts burned to supervise the distribution among the Indians of the bounties of a paternal government; had made the acquaintance of half the magnates at the national capital, and had learned the failings and foibles of the weaker vessels who are disposed to regard the public treasury as a happy contrivance for the relief of impecunious patriots. For four years he was chief deputy United States marshal for one of the western states, and afterwards filled a similar position in one of the territories, having virtual control of the office, as his principal was a sot who paid no attention to the business. At odd intervals he also attended to the "still work" around two or three Indian agencies. - The drunken marshal at length died, and was succeeded by a sober man who turned Middleton adrift. Now Middleton, in the days of his splendor, had wonderful facility for making money, but his habits were very expensive; so that when the tide turned, his pockets were empty. Governor Halford, upon whom he had some mysterious claim, then took him in as private secretary, — a position he was well qualified to fill, as he had talents, experience, and literary capacity, but his bad habits had now become so inveterate that the governor was constrained to look about for means of getting rid of him. Accordingly the wires clicked and clicked back again, and the deed was done, Middleton receiving an appointment as mail messenger on the road from Wilna to Tilsit, a distance of sixty miles. Like many other frauds foisted as pensioners on the revenues of the department, he was to have no keys, but was to ride in the little room set apart for the storage of two or three pouches, tell stories, drink whiskey, and settle the affairs of the nation, in conjunction with other traveling politicians as worthy of confidence as himself. The ostensible business of the messenger was "to guard" the mails, and that was all, the office being of course entirely unneces RIDING A HIGH HORSE. 321 sary except as a means of livelihood for a vagabond who had fallen so low that he could no longer earn his subsistence in the legitimate pursuits of business. Special agent Furay happening to travel that way, and feeling outraged at the imposition practiced on the government, informed the messenger that the mails must be distributed, or the place would be discontinued; but Middleton laughed him to scorn, relying with absolute confidence upon the impregnability of his fortifications. However, the keys were sent for and came; but the messenger thrust them into his pocket, and said nothing, having resolved not to soil his dignity by "throwing" letters for Furay or any other man. As a sworn employé of the department, Middleton had free access to the terminal offices, neither postmaster knowing that he was provided with a key. Both were money-order offices, and it was the custom of Wilna to remit all surplus funds every Monday by registered letter, directed to the postmaster at Tilsit. The train started from the latter place in the morning, and, remaining about an hour at Wilna, returned in the afternoon. While lounging around, Middleton had often seen the postmaster at Wilna inclose large sums in such letters. The packages were uniformly placed in the through pouch, which it was his special business to guard on the road. Having become familiar with the routine, and duly reflected on the rules of evidence, the fellow concluded that here was a rich placer on which he could raid with impunity. He saw no way in which the robbery could be legally proved, and for mere suspicion he cared not a straw. The plan rapidly took shape, and it was not long before the experiment was tried. Within three weeks after the receipt of the key, the only package which left one Monday morning was stolen. To avert suspicion, the messenger kept away from the office on the occasion, coming up only with the mail wagon just before the departure of the return train. "Under the circumstances, how was he to know," he triumphantly inquired, "what was in the pouch?" On this particular Monday the postmaster was too busy to go out and hunt up large bills, and hence deferred the remittance of the surplus moneyorder funds. It so happened that there was but one registered package in the pouch. This was directed to the postmaster at Tilsit, and would naturally be mistaken for one of the rich douceurs which had excited the cupidity of the dishonest messenger. The letter, however, was mailed by a citizen, and contained but ten dollars. It was stolen on the road. The next day the postmaster at Wilna did remit his surplus, amounting to five hundred and fifty dollars, in a five hundred dollar treasury note, and five ten-dollar bills, all new, of the Scandinavian National Bank of Chicago, which had recently been established, and was then putting its fresh currency in circulation. Each note was fully described on the circular provided for the purpose, the original being transmitted with the money, and a duplicate retained at the office of mailing. The package, however, shared the fate of its more humble predecessor of the previous day. Great was the consternation when it was learned that two registered letters had been stolen on two consecutive days. The postmasters at Wilna and Tilsit, the marshal of the territory, and Middleton, wrote to special agent Furay, and they all also wrote or telegraphed to the department, which in turn forwarded the communications to the same officer. He was then absent from home, working up a case at a long distance from his base of supplies, and of course knew nothing of this fearful clamor for his presence and aid. On returning, ten days later, his wife ran to the cars to meet him, and thrusting a package of papers into his hands, ejaculated, excitedly, "O, John! — big robbery! Tilsit! - quick!" - The train was moving away, but, seizing the bundle, he hurried after it, and succeeded in getting aboard, after a desperate race, reaching Tilsit at midnight. The next morning he began the investigation in earnest, going over the ground prudently, coolly, and carefully, seeing SUSPICIOUS SOLICITUDE. 323 the parties interested, and listening critically to their stories. The farther he penetrated into the case the more thorough became his conviction that Middleton was the thief; yet there was no crucial fact that fastened the guilt upon him absolutely. Possibly the package was never placed in the pouch. Possibly it went through safely and was appropriated at Tilsit. Enough of doubt hung over its fate at each end of the route to save the messenger from criminal prosecution. The opinion of a skilled detective is often unerringly correct, though based on shreds of evidence that fall far short of legal proof. In this instance the thief, from long familiarity with the rules of law, believed there was no possible way in which the hand of justice could reach him. Yet for a man of the world, who had navigated safely through many perils, he now exhibited unaccountable solicitude to have "the thing hunted up," as otherwise he must be left to share suspicion with others. |