“A conservative estimate of the amount of jewels which the gang has smuggled into this country in the last six months would be at least half a million dollars. There is no way of knowing just how extensive are their operations. Agents are especially warned to use great care in any approach to any members of this gang. Agents working on this case should go armed at all times. It is imperative that the men responsible for these operations be taken into custody at the earliest possible time.”
Bob read this paragraph several times and it brought home to him the possible dangers which he might face in the coming weeks.
The other passenger in the car whose seat was behind Bob got up and went forward into the smoking compartment where Tully had gone previously.
Bob looked up as the man went past him. The stranger was powerfully built and Bob especially noticed the breadth and strength of his hands.
Bob thought little of the incident but hoped that Tully would have the good sense to put away the secret papers when the stranger entered the smoking compartment. As the train sped through the fertile Virginia farm lands the young federal agent continued his perusal of the report.
The concluding paragraph was such that he read it three or four times.
“From all information at hand, it appears obvious that not more than five men are involved in this smuggling enterprise. So far we have been unable to identify positively any member of the gang so all agents are doubly warned against any incautious remarks which might indicate the reason for their visit to Florida. In case of any unusual emergency notify headquarters by long distance telephone at once.”
Bob went back over the report again in detail and, when he had finished, placed it in the sturdy envelope, sealed it, and put it in his Gladstone bag. He felt now that he knew as much about the case as it was possible to learn until he actually reached Atalissa.
After a time Bob walked forward and stepped into the smoking compartment where Tully and the stranger were engaged in animated conversation.
Tully looked up but there was little warmth in his glance. That, however, did not deter Bob from sitting down on one of the comfortable leather upholstered benches. The stranger looked at Bob and a rather pleasant smile framed his lips.
“Going to Florida?” he asked.
“Jacksonville,” said Bob laconically.
“That’s fine, I’m going there too. Hamsa, Joe Hamsa, is the name,” said the stranger reaching over and extending his hand in greeting.
Bob grasped the extended hand but he winced slightly at the strength of the other’s grip.
“I’m Bob Houston of Washington,” replied Bob by way of introducing himself.
“Going south on business or just taking a vacation?” asked Joe Hamsa and Bob thought there was a peculiar flicker in the other’s eyes.
“Well, it’s a combination of both,” replied Bob.
“Wish I could say as much,” went on Hamsa, “but it’s all business with me. I’m glad you boys are on the car today. I don’t like to travel alone and especially at night.”
Bob wondered just why Mr. Hamsa, who appeared perfectly capable of taking care of himself, did not care to travel alone. He was not in doubt long for Hamsa suddenly developed a voluble streak.
“Diamonds are my specialty,” he said, “and I’ve been held up once or twice. Believe me, there’s no fun in that.”
Mr. Hamsa did not look particularly like the type of man who would submit to a holdup peacefully, and there was something about him that aroused suspicions in Bob’s mind.
The young federal agent glanced across the compartment to where Tully was seated and he was surprised to note that the papers in the confidential report on the smuggling ring were scattered on the seat beside Tully.
What was even more astounding was the pallor of Tully’s face, and the glassy stare in his eyes.
“Tully,” cried Bob, “what’s the matter?”
But there was no response from Tully except a slight twitching of his lips which indicated that he might be trying to answer.
“Tully,” repeated Bob, “what’s the matter?”
The sharp questions voiced by the young federal agent caused Hamsa also to turn and stare at Tully.
Bob was less than six feet away from Tully, yet the other failed to answer his questions or to give any sign of recognition. He sat there like a man under a hypnotic spell.
Bob leaped to his feet and in one long stride was beside Tully. With firm hands he grasped Tully’s shoulders and shook him vigorously.
Tully’s head dropped forward on his chest and he seemed suddenly to collapse, sliding forward off the leather bench and falling to the floor.
Chapter VI
STRANGE EVENTS
★
Tully’s collapse came so suddenly that Bob was unable to check his fall to the floor, but he leaned down almost instantly and lifted Tully back on one of the benches.
Bob’s face was close to Tully’s and he caught a whiff of an acrid smell on Tully’s breath. His companion’s breathing was slow and distinctly labored.
Bob grasped one of Tully’s wrists and checked the pulse beat. His knowledge of first aid was somewhat limited, but the steadiness of the pulse count reassured him and he decided that Tully had probably fallen victim to a sudden fainting attack.
Joe Hamsa leaned over Bob and attempted to aid him in ministering to Tully.
“Anything I can do?” he asked.
“Get a cup of water,” said Bob, and Hamsa hastened away to do his bidding. He was back soon with the paper cup brimming full of water. Bob moistened his handkerchief in this and bathed Tully’s cheeks and forehead while Hamsa loosened his tie and collar, and massaged his wrists.
Just then the Pullman conductor came into the compartment.
“What’s doing here?” he asked.
Bob answered without looking up.
“I think my companion suffered a fainting attack. Have you any smelling salts?”
“I have some in my first aid kit up ahead,” replied the conductor, departing to obtain it.
He returned in less than a minute with the smelling salts and Bob gave Tully several deep sniffs from the pungent smelling bottle. The penetrating qualities of the salts seemed to reach Tully’s subconscious mind and draw away the curtain which had clouded his consciousness. He made an effort to rouse himself but Bob speaking in a low voice forced him back on the leather bench.
“Take it easy, Tully,” he advised. “You’ll feel stronger in a short time.”
Tully opened his eyes and stared at them. It was evident that he had no idea what had happened to him.
Bob, who had been somewhat concerned when he saw the sheets of Tully’s confidential report laying out in the open, now took time to look for them. They were still scattered on one of the leather benches and as far as Bob could determine they had not been disturbed. He reached out and with the sweep of one hand brushed them into a pile at one corner of the bench. Fortunately they had been turned face down, and Bob felt sure that there had been no opportunity for either Hamsa or the Pullman conductor to read the contents.
Tully attempted to sit up and Bob’s attention returned to his unfortunate traveling companion. Tully still appeared shaken but his eyes were clearer and once more there was a touch of color in his cheeks.
Tully signalled that he would like a drink of water and Hamsa hurried away to fill another paper cup from the tank in the vestibule. When he returned Tully took several deep draughts of the water and he appeared greatly refreshed.
“I don’t know what happened,” he mumbled, shaking his head slowly. “My mind seems so heavy. I can’t think.”
“Better take it easy for a while,” advised Bob. “Here, stretch out on this couch. I’ll get the porter to bring you a blanket.”
Bob stepped out and called the porter who was in the other end of the car, and, thus far, unaware that anything unusual had taken place in the smoking compartment. At Bob’s instructions he brought a blanket and placed it over Tully. Then he brought in a pillow and the federal agent was made as comfortable as possible.
“Want me to make up a berth?” asked the porter, but Tully shook his head.
“Not now. I’ll be all right here. Just let me rest.”
Bob’s keen eyes roved around the smoking compartment. The papers which had been in Tully’s confidential envelope had been placed on the opposite couch, evidently by Hamsa or the Pullman conductor. Bob caught a quick glance from Tully and sensed that the other wanted the papers put away at once.
The young federal agent stepped over to the leather couch, scooped up the sheets of typewritten paper, and placed them in the envelope.
“Thanks,” said Tully, when Bob handed the package to him. He slipped the documents into an inner pocket of his coat, closed his eyes, and was soon in a deep sleep.
This might have been alarming had not Tully’s breathing been deep and natural and the color in his cheeks more normal.
“I think he’s coming around all right,” said Hamsa, who had remained in the smoking compartment. “Looks to me like it might have been an attack of acute indigestion.”
“Perhaps,” agreed Bob, but for his own satisfaction he would have preferred to have a doctor examine Tully. He stepped outside into the corridor to speak to the Pullman conductor.
“Do you know if there is a doctor on the train?” he asked.
“I don’t believe so. We’re running light today but I’ll find out; your friend any worse?”
“No. He’s better, but I’d like to find out just what happened to him.”
“I can wire ahead and have an ambulance meet us at the next division point,” suggested the conductor.
“I don’t believe that will be necessary,” replied Bob. “We’re anxious to get to Jacksonville on this train. However, I wish you would ascertain if there is a doctor aboard.”
As the trainman hurried away, Bob stepped back into the smoking compartment. There was something definitely puzzling and disturbing about the sudden illness which had overtaken Tully, for the latter was usually in the best of health.
Bob thought back over the days of their association in the archives division of the War Department, trying to remember if Tully had ever been the subject of sudden fainting spells. As far as he could recall, nothing like this had occurred before, which did not make his mind rest any easier.
Hamsa wandered out of the smoking compartment and Bob and Tully were alone. Half an hour slipped by and Tully remained in the deep sleep.
The train had stopped once, a long halt for coal and water, and it was after it resumed motion that the Pullman conductor returned to the compartment.
“I’ve been all over the train, even into the day coaches ahead, and there isn’t even a veterinarian aboard. Sure you don’t want us to wire for an ambulance to meet you? We’ll be in at the next division point in an hour and a half.”
“I’ll let you know definitely a little later. If he doesn’t rouse from this sleep, it may be necessary to do just that.”
“Anything more I can do?” asked the conductor, but Bob shook his head.
“I’ll stay here and watch him. If I need any help, I’ll signal for the porter.”
The curtains at the doorway swished down behind the departing figure of the conductor, leaving Bob and Tully alone once more.
The afternoon was waning as the train sped southward, the steady clicking of the trucks underneath indicating that the Limited was doing at least a mile a minute. The roadbed was smooth and the high speed did not make the car ride uncomfortably.
While Tully was asleep, Bob studied his companion’s face. Tully’s features were really remarkably strong and if he made an effort to look pleasant he would have been a handsome young man. But his lips were inclined to a perpetual downward curve that made it appear that a steady scowl was on his face.
Bob would have enjoyed liking Tully, for there were many qualities in the other that were outstanding. For instance, Tully was sturdy and he had the power to drive steadily toward a goal once he set his ambition to that end. It was too bad that he let personal feelings creep into his work and sway his better judgment, such as challenging Bob to beat him to a solution of the jewel smuggling case.
Bob was a better than average judge of character and he knew that Tully would worry so much about what he was doing that Tully’s own keen mind would be somewhat dulled on the case. For that reason Bob had not hesitated to take up the challenge.
The Limited plunged into a short but heavy rain storm and drops of water streamed down the windows. It was not an especially auspicious beginning to their manhunt.
Tully moved restlessly and Bob thought for a time that his companion was about to wake up, but Tully’s breathing deepened once more and his eyes remained closed.
Joe Hamsa stuck his head into the compartment.
“Any change?” he asked, and Bob thought he appeared a little too solicitous for a passing acquaintance.
“I think he’s resting easier,” replied Bob.
“Are you going to take him to a hospital?” asked Hamsa, pressing Bob for further information on his plans.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Let me know if there is anything I can do,” volunteered the other. It was apparent that he would have liked an invitation to stay in the room, but Bob turned toward the rain-washed windows and after a brief pause Hamsa dropped the curtain at the doorway and walked back into the Pullman.
Chapter VII
THE MAN ON THE PLATFORM
★
Tully remained in the deep sleep for another fifteen minutes. Then he stirred restlessly and Bob went over to his side. As he looked down Tully opened his eyes. They appeared clear and perfectly normal.
Tully attempted to sit up, but Bob put his hands on his shoulders and gently pushed him back on the couch.
“Take it easy for a while, Tully,” he said.
“What happened?” the other demanded, and Bob noted that the words were slow and his speech thick.
Then before he could answer, Tully grunted and made a face.
“Get me some water, quick.”
Bob hastened out into the corridor where he filled a paper cup to the brim. Tully drank every drop and signaled for another cup, which Bob procured immediately.
When that was done, Tully appeared greatly refreshed.
“Help me prop this pillow up so I can sit up a little,” he urged Bob, and he was soon in a more comfortable position.
The rain still washed the windows of the car, and the porter, entering the compartment, turned on the top lights, for it was nearly dark.
Before he spoke again Tully felt inside his coat and, reassured that the documents on the jewel smuggling case were there, he looked at Bob.
“I don’t remember very much,” he said slowly, “but all of a sudden everything went dark. I felt that I was going to fall but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even reach out my hands and neither could I say a word.”
He paused and Bob felt that it would be well for him to explain what he had seen.
“You looked like you were hypnotized,” he explained. “I came over and caught you, but you were out cold. Believe me, you had us worried for a while.”
Just then the Pullman conductor looked in.
“Made up your mind about calling an ambulance at the division point?” he asked. Then he saw Tully propped into a half-way sitting position and his face brightened.
“Coming around now?”
“He’s feeling better. We’ll go right on through to Jacksonville,” said Bob and the conductor went on about his duties.
“Didn’t you think I’d come around?” asked Tully, a look of worry on his forehead.
“We didn’t know just what was happening for a while,” explained Bob. “You had us pretty badly scared.”
Tully looked thoughtful.
“I honestly don’t know what took place,” he said, slowly shaking his head. “It seemed as though blackness simply exploded in my face. Actually I believe there was some kind of a shock or blow on my face.”
“I don’t know what it could have been,” replied Bob. “Hamsa and I were the only ones with you and you had been visiting with Hamsa for some time before I came in.”
“He’s a queer duck,” muttered Tully. “I don’t know whether I could like or trust him.”
Bob had exactly the same feeling and he was interested to know Tully’s reaction to their traveling companion.
“I’m still kind of sleepy. Guess I’ll take another nap. You might tell the porter to make up my berth.”
“I’ll have him fix up lower five for you,” replied Bob. “I’ll take the upper for you probably won’t feel much like climbing in and out of a berth for the next few hours. Think you’ll want anything to eat tonight?”
“Perhaps a little soup later,” nodded Tully as he closed his eyes.
Bob remained in the compartment for several minutes until he was sure that Tully was in a deep and comfortable sleep. Then he returned to the main section of the Pullman.
As he turned in the corridor and could look down the full length of the car he thought he caught just a glimpse of Hamsa dodging out the other end of the car.
Only a few lights were on and Bob could not be sure that his eyes were not playing tricks on him. In any event he hastened his pace and when he reached the section which he and Tully occupied he drew his big Gladstone bag out from under one of the seats.
Bob breathed easier when he saw the envelope which contained the confidential information on the smuggling was just where he had left it. It had been more than a little careless of him to leave such valuable data unprotected for so long a time.
It was fully dark and Bob snapped on the individual lights in the berth and rang the buzzer for the porter, who appeared almost immediately.
Bob instructed him to make up both the lower and upper berth.
“I’m going ahead into the diner. Let me know when you’ve finished,” he said, “and also keep an eye on my friend in the smoking compartment. If he should wake up, inform me at once.”
The rush to reach the train plus the exciting events of the afternoon had made Bob ravenously hungry and when he entered the dining car he splurged by ordering a large porterhouse steak and an extra order of French fried potatoes.
The conductor had been right when he described travel on the Southern that night as light for there were only five others in the diner in addition to Bob. All of them were strangers, three of them being women and the other two rather elderly men who were engaged in an animated conversation on the economic problems of the day.
Bob summoned the steward, explained that a companion was ill, and asked that a nourishing soup be prepared for him to take back to the Pullman when he returned.
The steak, when it was brought in, was both thick and tender, and the potatoes were done just to the right crispness. It was a meal that Bob could thoroughly enjoy and he ate it in comparative leisure, relying on the Pullman porter to call him if Tully awakened.
The train slowed to a smooth halt in a North Carolina mill town and Bob looked out on the well lighted station platform. The rain was descending in torrents now and Bob knew that it might be hard to keep the Limited on the fast schedule which its time card demanded.
It was evidently a service stop for the train remained at the station for at least ten minutes. Bob, watching from the windows, could see anyone on the platform and he was startled to catch a glimpse of a man hurrying along beside the train. He had just a glimpse, but the man, short and rather bulky, was making what appeared to Bob to be an obvious effort to avoid attracting attention for he was hugging the side of the train. He was clad in a dark oilskin and a soft hat, pulled well down, shielded his face.
Bob pressed his own face against the glass and peered along the platform. Up ahead a brightly illuminated sign marked the telegraph office, and Bob saw the man hurry inside, but the distance was too great for him to see the other’s face. In less than a minute the man reappeared, but he did not come back along the train.
Then the Limited plunged southward again, beating its way into the teeth of the storm, and Bob wondered if Joe Hamsa could have been the man on the platform.
Bob finished his meal and after paying his bill went back into car 43 to see how Tully was getting along. He found him awake and ready for something to eat.
“Soup would taste good,” nodded Tully when Bob suggested it and the young federal agent returned to the diner at once. When he re-entered the car he saw Joe Hamsa seated at the far end of the diner and he was sure that he had not passed Hamsa either going or coming from car 43. That meant that Hamsa had been up ahead some place.
Bob thought the diamond salesman made a deliberate effort to avoid his eyes by staring intently through the storm-bathed windows of the car. The soup was ready and Bob followed a waiter who carried it back to the Pullman.
The train was traveling at a wild pace now and Bob almost lost his balance as he walked between the cars. As the anger of the storm deepened, he became more convinced than before that Joe Hamsa was the man he had seen on the station platform and there was something about the wildness of the night and Tully’s sudden illness that caused grave apprehension in Bob’s mind.
Chapter VIII
TULLY’S PAPERS VANISH
★
When Bob returned to the Pullman, Tully was obviously much refreshed from his deep sleep and he ate the soup with real relish. After he was through and the waiter had gone, Tully spoke to him.
“I’ll appreciate it if you’ll give me a hand down to the berth,” he said. “My legs are still a little shaky, but I guess I’m all right otherwise. A good night’s sleep will put me back to normal.”
Bob supported Tully and together they walked down to the berth which had been made up. Joe Hamsa was not in the car.
“I still can’t figure out what happened to me,” said Tully, shaking his head.
“You are sure I wasn’t struck over the head?” he looked at Bob so sharply that Bob was inclined to laugh.
“Don’t accuse me of doing a thing like that,” he retorted, but there was no anger in his words.
“But I tell you it felt like something struck my face. Then there was a blanket of darkness that settled over me and I couldn’t move or say a word. It was a mighty helpless sort of feeling.”
Bob agreed that there had been nothing pleasant about the experience and he helped Tully in getting undressed. Tully drew the letter with its confidential report on the smuggling ring out of an inner pocket.
“This goes under my pillow,” he said.
“I thought it was kind of foolish for you to read it while Hamsa was in the smoking compartment with you,” said Bob, and a flicker of anger glowed in Tully’s eyes.
“Hamsa’s all right,” he replied. “You take care of your copy and I’ll take care of mine.”
With that Tully pulled out the flap of the envelope and drew forth the closely typewritten pages which comprised the report.
Bob saw a sudden, startled change in Tully’s face, and he leaned closer.
“Bob,” whispered the other. “Look at these pages. Am I seeing things?”
Bob picked up the handful of data and scanned the typewritten words. Even before he read the printing on the page he knew that something was wrong for the paper was thicker than that upon which his report had been written.
But the real shock was when he read the first page. It was a recipe for making dill pickles.
“It’s a pickle recipe,” gasped Bob.
Tully nodded grimly.
“Look at the rest of them!”
Bob skimmed through the pages, bending down to examine each one closely. Instead of the confidential data the pages were mimeographed recipes and Bob and Tully stared at each other in amazement.
“My report’s been stolen!”
It was Tully speaking and he sounded like a stricken man. Then he grasped Bob’s shoulders.
“This isn’t a trick you’re playing on me?” he demanded.
“Don’t be silly,” said Bob firmly. “That isn’t my idea of a joke. We’ve got to get busy now.”
Bob pressed the buzzer for the porter, who put in an almost immediate appearance.
“Get the Pullman conductor here at once,” he commanded.
“Sorry, boss, but he’s eating supper up ahead.”
“Get him,” retorted Bob, and the manner in which he gave the order sent the porter scurrying up the aisle.
“How could this have happened?” asked Tully, and from the heaviness of his voice Bob knew that his companion had not fully thrown off the effects of the attack which had overcome him that afternoon.
“The secret of this is somewhere on the Limited,” replied Bob. “Only three people, in addition to myself, were in the compartment with you. One was the Pullman conductor, the other was Hamsa, and the third was the porter. I think we can rule out the porter for he was in there only once or twice. There’s just a chance the conductor might have come back in while I was in the diner.”
“What motive would he have in taking such a report?” Tully wanted to know and Bob confessed that there apparently was none.
The conductor, evidently irritated at being called from his dinner, entered the car and hurried down to the section.
“What’s the matter?” he asked crisply.
Bob did not like the tone of his voice and he drew forth the little badge which identified him. The conductor’s eyes widened in astonishment and there was an instant change in his attitude. He looked toward Tully significantly.
“Prisoner?” he asked.
“No. He’s a federal agent like myself. Sometime after he was stricken this afternoon an envelope containing valuable information was taken from him and worthless papers substituted.”
“You’re not suspecting me of this, are you?” asked the conductor and there was such pathetic anxiety in his voice that Bob felt that the man was innocent of any wrong doing.
“I’m not suspecting or accusing anyone at present,” replied Bob. “I simply want to know if you saw anything unusual going on in this car at any time while I was in the diner and while my companion was asleep on the couch in the compartment ahead.”
The conductor shook his head.
“I was through the car twice,” he said, “and the only one here was the man who had lower nine. The first time he was in his seat and the second time he was near the rear vestibule. He had on a slicker and had the upper part of the door open.”
“When was that?” The question shot eagerly from Bob’s lips.
“Just before our last stop at Atkinson where we took on coal and water,” replied the conductor. “I didn’t notice him again until up in the diner a few minutes ago.”
“The vestibule door was opened by someone while we were in Atkinson,” put in the porter.
“Then lower nine’s passenger must have taken a walk. Fine night for a thing like that,” said the conductor. “Come to think of it, I did see his slicker on another chair in the diner.”
There was no question now but that Joe Hamsa had been the man Bob had seen on the station platform, and the suspicious feeling Bob had held toward him from the beginning was strengthened.
“I’m going forward to talk with Hamsa,” he told Tully, and he started ahead through the train as fast as he could walk.
When he reached the diner the steward was turning down the lights.
“I’m looking for a dark, heavy-set fellow who was wearing a black slicker,” said Bob. “He belongs in car 43.”
“He left not more than two or three minutes ago,” replied the steward. “You should have met him, for he started back into the Pullmans.”
Bob shook his head.
“I just came from car 43 and he couldn’t have passed me.”
“He might have turned around and gone up into the coaches,” said the steward. “I’ve been busy in the kitchen checking with the chef. You might look up ahead.”
Bob went up into the day coaches and found the train conductor in the forward car. There were three day coaches on the train and the conductor was busy making out his reports.
The young federal agent wasted no time in identifying himself.
“There’s a man aboard I want to question,” he explained. “He was in the diner a few minutes ago and after finishing his meal started back for the Pullmans. He belongs in lower nine of car 43, but I’m sure he didn’t reach there. Get your brakeman out and search this train.”
The small gold badge Bob displayed worked magic with the trainman and he summoned his brakeman. Bob gave them a brief description of Hamsa and they started back through the train.
Every vestibule and every compartment was checked as the three worked methodically. They even looked into the kitchen on the dining car while the chef, a jolly negro, grinned at them.
Back in car 43 they found the Pullman conductor standing watch beside Tully.
“There’s no sign of Hamsa up ahead,” said Bob. “He didn’t come this way?”
“No one’s been through this car,” replied the Pullman official firmly.
Bob shook his head.
“A man can’t vanish on a train and we’ve been running too fast for him to jump off. That would have been sheer suicide.”
There were two more Pullmans and an observation lounge car behind car 43 and with the trainmen at his heels, Bob resumed the search.
The next two cars were practically deserted and even in the observation lounge there were only five passengers in addition to the porter. They looked up with evident interest at the wholesale invasion of the trainmen and the grim intentness of the expression on Bob’s face.
But the observation car failed to yield any sign of Hamsa and Bob stepped out on the rain-lashed platform. The Limited whistled sharply and seconds later rumbled through a small village. Then the train was rushing through the desolate night once more.
The young federal agent turned and re-entered the car and the feeling of unrest which had gripped him ever since meeting Joe Hamsa deepened. There was something about the diamond salesman that sent shivers up and down Bob’s spine.
“That fellow’s got to be on the train some place for we haven’t even slowed up since we left Atkinson,” said the train conductor. “We’d better look again.”
They started forward, once more examining every compartment aboard the train, and this time they even went into the baggage car, but the baggageman insisted that no one had been through his car.
Back in the first day coach they stopped to take council.
“I’m afraid he’s fallen off the train in some manner,” said the train conductor. “We’re stopping in ten minutes at a junction and I’ll send a wire back to division headquarters. They’ll warn all trains over the road to watch for him.”
Bob, however, doubted that Hamsa had fallen from the train for he felt that the diamond salesman was far too clever and cautious to be the victim of such an accident.
Chapter IX
BOB GETS A WARNING
★
The young federal agent returned to car 43 and related in detail to Tully the result of the search of the train.
“It doesn’t seem possible that Hamsa could be on the train, yet I am sure that he did not fall off,” concluded Bob.
“I’ve the same feeling,” said Tully. “You’re sure you didn’t miss any place?”
“We looked in every closet and compartment aboard the Limited,” insisted Bob. “We’d have found even a fly if one had been aboard.”
Tully was visibly downcast for he felt the loss of his confidential instructions keenly.
“Hamsa is the only one who could have taken them,” he said, half to himself.
Bob felt like telling Tully that he should have known better than to have opened and read them in the presence of anyone else, but he checked the impulse, and was glad that he had had the foresight to protect his own papers by placing them in his Gladstone bag.
The train slowed to a stop at a lonely junction and Bob went to the vestibule where the porter opened the upper half of the door for him.
The federal agent, peering ahead through the rain, saw the train conductor make a dash for the station where a night operator was on duty. The conductor ran back to the train just before the engineer “whistled in” the flagman and Bob knew that already a message was humming over the wires telling of the disappearance of Joe Hamsa, the diamond salesman.
The porter closed the upper half of the door and Bob returned to the Pullman. The lights had been turned low and he looked in at Tully, who was dozing.
Bob was too wide awake to think of sleep just then, and he went ahead to the smoking compartment, where the porter had left an evening paper.
Bob picked up the paper and scanned the headlines on the first page, but there was nothing recorded in the news there that drew his attention and he turned to the sports page, where football dope stories could be found plentifully, for Bob liked nothing better in the sports world than a good football game.
The train conductor came in and sat down.
“It’s a bad night,” he said, looking at the curtain of rain which swept the windows. “We’ll be late getting into Jacksonville. A message at the junction back there gave us a lot of slow orders where the track is going bad ahead of us.”
“The rain must be worse farther south,” said Bob.
“It’s nearly a cloudburst in some places. I wouldn’t be surprised if we find a bridge washed out and get hung up for hours.”
The conductor was silent for a minute. Then he added, “I can’t figure out where that fellow in lower nine went. Seems impossible that he could have fallen off the train, yet he isn’t here.”
“I’m just as puzzled as you are,” admitted Bob, “but I have a feeling that no harm has come to him. I sized him up as a fellow pretty well able to take care of himself.”
“I don’t recall seeing him,” said the train conductor, “for the Pullman conductor handles this end of the Limited. Well, I’ve more reports to get ready.”
He got to his feet and started for the door. The Limited lurched heavily and the conductor was thrown back against Bob.
“There we go!” he cried. “The track’s gone out from under us.”
The car was weaving and lurching as the wheels screamed in the grip of powerful air brakes, but the rhythmic clack of the trucks told them they were still on the rails.
The conductor hoisted himself to his feet and Bob followed him in a dash for the vestibule.
“That blamed engineer almost shook us to pieces,” groaned the conductor as he threw open the top half of the vestibule door and peered out.
Bob, looking over his shoulder, could see a red glare that penetrated even the brilliance of the locomotive’s headlight.
“Someone’s swinging a fuse against us,” said the conductor, buttoning up his slicker. “I’m going ahead.”
Bob ran back into the Pullman and got his own coat. Tully, who was awake now, wanted to know what it was all about.
“An emergency stop of some kind,” said Bob. “I’ll be back soon.”
By the time he was back in the vestibule the Limited was grinding to a stop and Bob swung down behind the conductor, the two running ahead alongside the train as rapidly as they could in the darkness.
The Southern had been flagged at a lonely way station where it seldom if ever made a stop, and the engineer, who was leaning from his cab, bawled lustily at them.
“Find out what that hick agent means by flagging us down,” he shouted. “We’ve got to get rolling again. We’re 23 minutes late.”
The agent, the red fuse still in his hands, came toward them and Bob caught a glimpse of a telegram in one hand.
“What’s the idea of flagging us down?” demanded the conductor. “I’m going to report you if you haven’t a mighty good reason.”
The agent’s retort was sharp.
“Oh, quit your howling. I waved a fuse at you because I had orders from the super to stop this train and deliver a message to one of your passengers.”
“What’s that?” bellowed the conductor. “You had the nerve to stop the Southern just to deliver a telegram?”
The agent shrugged. “You heard me. Now I’ve got to find this passenger and deliver the message.”
“Give it to me. I’ll deliver it.” The conductor reached for the telegram, but the agent backed away.
“Oh, no you don’t. I’m going to deliver this in person and get the signature of the man I deliver it to.”
“Hurry up there!” It was the engineer, shouting at them above the noise of the storm and the air pumps on the locomotive.