Bob’s remarks were interrupted by the arrival of the Boston Express, which rumbled into the Cresville station, where the boys now were and, after a momentary stop, steamed on again.  A man leaped from the steps of a parlor car and ran into the freight office, first, however, looking up and down the length of the train to see if any other passengers got off.

“He seems in a hurry,” observed Ned.

“Yes, and he must have some pull with the railroad, for the Boston Express never stops here,” said Jerry.  “Maybe he’s the president of the road.”

The boys kept on to the freight office.  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.

“Let’s go in and ask Mr. Hitter what to do about our boat,” suggested Ned.

They found the agent counting over a roll of bills.

“Been robbing a bank?” asked Bob cheerfully.  “Guess I’d better tell dad to look out for his money.”

“That was paid by the man who was just in in here,” replied the agent.  “Queer chap.  Seemed as if he didn’t want to be found out.  First he was going to ship his stuff by fast freight, and then he concluded it would be better by express, though it cost a lot more.  But he had plenty of money.”

“Who was he?” asked Jerry.

“That’s another funny part of it.  He didn’t tell me his name, though I hinted I’d have to have it to give him a receipt.  He said to make it out X. Y. Z., and I done it.  That’s the way them boxes come, several days ago, from Boston.  They arrived by express, consigned to X. Y. Z., and was to be called for.  I thought of everybody in town, but there ain’t nobody with them initials.  I was just wondering what to do with ‘em when in be comes an’ claims ’em.”