When they reached it they
found the stranger in conversation with Mr. Hitter, the agent. The
chums could not help overhearing the talk.
"Have you several packages here, addressed to X. Y. Z., to he held
until called for?" the stranger asked.
"There they be," replied the agent, pointing to several small boxes,
piled near the door.
"That's good," and the man seemed much relieved. "Now I want them
shipped by fast freight to San Francisco, and I want to prepay them so
there will be no delay. How much is it?" and he pulled out a
pocketbook, disclosing a roll of bills. As he did so he hurried to the
door and looked up and down the depot platform, as if afraid of being
observed. He saw the three boys, and, for a moment, seemed as if he
was about to hurry away. Then, with an obvious effort, he remained,
but turned into the freight office and shut the door.
"He acts as if he was afraid we would steal something from him," said
Bob.
"Or as if he didn't want us to hear any more about those boxes,"
supplemented Jerry. "He's a queer customer, he is."
"Well, it's none of our affair," remarked Ned, but neither he nor his
chums realized how, a little later, they were to take part in an
adventure in which the mysterious man and the queer boxes were to
figure importantly.
In a short time the man came out of the freight office. He did not
look at the boys, but hurried off down the street, putting some papers
into his pocket book, which, the boys could not help noticing as he
passed them, was not so full of money as it had been.
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