Chapter VI: Two Men in a Box

On the following morning Paul La Croix went upstairs to the man who made artificial flowers and said to him:

"Monsieur Reynard, to-day ve go avay to Europe. I 'ave some sings een ze rooms ve occupy zat I weesh to send to a friend een Sacramento. To do so, I must 'ave wong beeg packing case. I see an empty wong standing over zere near ze hatchway. Can I buy him from you?"

"I'll make you a present of the big case, and be glad to get rid of it, as it takes up valuable space," replied Mr. Reynard, pleasantly. "Come, I'll help you to get it downstairs to your floor by means of the fall."

He opened the hatchway while La Croix was profusely thanking him, put a sling around the box and lowered it.

La Croix pulled the box into his front room through a door in the partition which surrounded the hatchway.

This done and Reynard out of the way, the smuggler turned to his wife, pointed at the box and asked her, with a grim smile:

"You know what zat ees for, my dear?"

"No. I have no idea. What?"

"To pack ze detectives in."

"What for?"

"So I can ship zem away."

"Won't it kill them?"

"I don't know," he replied, indifferently, shrugging his shoulders.

"Well," she remarked, after a moment's reflection, "it will give us time to get away to Canada without them knowing our destination."

"_Ma foi!_ Zat ees my object."

He was provided with a hammer and some nails, and taking the lid off the box, he saw that it was amply big to hold the detectives' bodies.

Some of the joints were shrunk open, he noticed, which would admit air for the officers to breathe. This would keep them alive some time if they were not killed some other way in transit.

He did not care much about that, however.

Calling his wife to aid him, he went into the next room where the two bound and gagged detectives laid upon the floor side by side.

Neither could move or speak.

They were wondering what their fate was to be.

It filled them with chagrin to reflect that this Frenchman had alone overpowered them without the slightest trouble.

La Croix seized Old King Brady first and dragged him into the next room.

"Now, Lena," he remarked, "help me to leeft him in ze box."

He took the detective by the head and she grasped his ankles and they quickly dropped their prisoner in the case.

Harry was served the same way.

There was just room enough to hold them.

When La Croix nailed on the lid, they realized what he intended to do with them and it made them feel very downhearted.

"Going to ship us away," thought Old King Brady.

La Croix then borrowed Reynard's brush and marking pot and they heard him chuckle and say to his wife:

"I weel direct ze box to wong fictitious address in Sacramento, California. By ze time ze secret police arrive zere, _par Dieu_, zey weel be zez dead mans!"

He then addressed the case and went after a truckman.

This done, between them they lowered the case through the hatchway into the street, and it was banged with a hook, turned over and over and pushed up a pair of rungs on the truck.

The Bradys were badly bumped and bruised.

But being gagged they had to suffer in silence.

Finally the truck was driven away with them, and reaching the Erie freight depot, the driver got a receipt for the box and dumped it off his truck.

The shock upon the imprisoned detectives was awful.

They heard the driver say:

"Collect de charges. Dat box goes via Buffalo, don't it?"

"Yes," replied the freight agent.

"Well, yer'd better handle it wid care, as I tink it's got artificial flowers in it, an' yer might smash de stuffins out o' dem."

"Mighty heavy artificial flowers," growled the agent.

Then the truck drove away.

The detectives laid in the freight building for some time, and the interior of the box became hot and stifling.

Fortunately the box stood as they were lying on their sides.

About noontime their troubles began again, for the freight handlers got hold of the box to send it over the river to Jersey with other freight. The detectives were tumbled and slammed about roughly, at one moment resting on their heads, at another on their faces, then they were picked up by a hand-truck and banged upon their backs on the boat. For a while they had a rest.

No one heard the groans of pain they uttered as they were bumped, bruised and cut, and they were carried over the river.

Here the rough handling began again until they were laden on a freight car due to go out that night.

The box now rested so that they were standing up.

It was such a painful attitude in those cramped quarters that they were in misery, for they were face to face, with their bodies bent over on account of the box being too short for the length of their bodies.

Both had made the most desperate efforts to get rid of their bonds and gags, but found it impossible to do so.

Some hours later they felt the train get in motion and knew they were on their way to Buffalo.

The time dragged very slowly.

Hour after hour passed by and the night passed and another day came.

Hunger and thirst were now added to the miseries they already endured and the strain they were under brought them to the verge of fainting.

Toward noontime the train paused at a way station to take on some freight and the box in which the detectives were packed was thrown over to make room for it.

As it struck the floor, Old King Brady struck his face forcibly against the side of the box and made his nose bleed.

He gave a deep groan and one of the freight handlers heard it.

"Good Lor'!" he exclaimed in startled tones, as he glared around. "What's that? Sounded like a man's voice."

Another groan from the old detective attracted his attention to the packing case, and he saw a tiny stream of blood trickling out of it through one of the cracks, upon the floor.

A thrill of horror darted through the man.

He began to suspect a corpse was in the box, and visions of a dreadful murder mystery floated through his mind.

"Hey, Tom! Hey, Bill! Come here, quick!" he yelled at his companions.

"What's the matter?"

"What do you want?"

"Bring a hammer here!"

"Did you bust open a box?"

"No. But I'm going to."

"What for?"

"I heard a man groaning in that--ha! Hear it?"

A third groan from Old King Brady reached their ears and seeing the blood, they quickly realized that there was some one in the case.

Procuring a hammer, they pulled off the lid.

The two detectives were revealed.

Harry was senseless.

Cries of astonishment escaped the men, and observing that the pair were still alive, they pulled them out of the box and laid them on the floor.

Removing the gags and bonds, the trainmen brought water and bathed the bruised and swollen faces of the detectives.

This treatment revived Harry.

Both were very weak, and they ached all over.

"Give us a drink," Old King Brady implored.

When this was done they asked for something to eat.

The trainmen got some food at the station and a big crowd gathered round when the news spread.

After eating and drinking and rubbing their legs and arms, the Bradys recovered rapidly and told who they were and what befell them.

In a short time they were able to walk.

"Are you going back to New York to arrest the rascal who did this?" asked the man who discovered them.

"No, indeed!" replied Harry, quickly. "We wouldn't find them there if we did. They are probably on their way to Canada now."

"Going after them?"

"Yes."

"Then you'd better stay with us until we arrive in Buffalo and you won't have so far to go to reach Montreal."

"We'll do that," said Old King Brady. "But don't let on about our escape. If the newspapers get hold of the story and publish it, our enemy may learn how we baffled his design and he will be on his guard against an attack from us."

"I'll keep mum, Mr. Brady. We'll reach Buffalo to-night and you can then attend properly to your injuries."

The train then moved on, and the detectives finally reached their destination and put up in a hotel, where a physician attended to their injuries.