IN CAR 43
★
Bob walked back through the Southern Limited with many things running
through his mind. His suspicions concerning Joe Hamsa had been confirmed
by the telegram in his pocket.
The rôle of diamond salesman was an ideal one for Hamsa to assume. In
that capacity he would be able to go around the country selling the
smuggled diamonds and if he appeared to be working for a legitimate firm
of wholesale diamond merchants there was little doubt that he would go
unmolested by the federal agents.
Bob wondered just how the department had obtained the information on
Hamsa which had led to the telegram to him. Perhaps his uncle would be
able to enlighten him when he arrived in Jacksonville the next morning.
The young federal agent entered car 43 and stopped at lower five. He
parted the curtains and looked down at Tully, who was sound asleep. Tully
was breathing so deeply that Bob hesitated to awaken him and tell him
about the message. If Tully was still asleep when Bob went to bed, there
would still be time to awaken him.
Bob went on back to lower nine, which Hamsa was to have occupied. There
was nothing on the seats, but Bob caught a glimpse of a bag sticking from
under the forward seat and he leaned down and pulled a small bag out.
The case was of well worn brown leather securely fastened with two small
but sturdy padlocks. There was something soft inside, but the leather was
too thick for his fingers to ascertain just what the contents might be.
The porter came through the car and stopped.
“Haven’t seen anything more of the man in lower nine?” asked Bob.
The Pullman employe shook his gray head.
“No sir, and I don’t know whether to make up his berth.”
“You might as well save yourself work. I don’t believe I’d make it up,”
advised Bob, and the porter, deciding to accept the counsel, went on up
the aisle.
Bob walked back to the observation and lounge car. There was only one
passenger who had not retired to his berth in the forward Pullmans. He
was an elderly man, thin, but with an expression on his face which gave
one a feeling of tremendous vitality. He was deeply engrossed in reading
and Bob picked up a newspaper which had been brought aboard the train at
one of the Carolina towns.
But he found reading a difficult task. His mind was centered on the
disappearance of Hamsa. It seemed absolutely incredible that a man could
have vanished from a fast train while it was speeding through the night
between stations. Yet apparently that was just what had taken place.
Bob knew there was an answer to the problem, and it was probably
something ridiculously simple, but it evaded his every mental effort and
he finally turned to the comic page of the newspaper for a chuckle or two
at the antics of the comic characters.
The other passenger in the car put down the magazine he had been reading
and went forward to his berth in another car. Bob was alone in the
observation lounge without even a trainman in the car.
From up ahead the dismal hoot of the locomotive whistle drifted back and
seconds later the car lurched as the trucks crashed over the frogs of a
siding and the dimmed lights of a village drifted by in the storm. Then
the train was in the heart of the desolate night once more.
After the events of the afternoon, with Tully’s sudden collapse and the
disappearance of Hamsa, it was not a scene to inspire confidence in the
heart of any young federal agent and Bob felt a queer chill running up
and down his spine. Once or twice before, when sudden danger impended, he
had had the same feeling.
Some premonition caused Bob to turn quickly toward the forward end of the
observation car and his eyes riveted on a hand, extended around the edge
of the corridor, which was groping for the switches controlling the
lights inside the car.
Bob was motionless, but for only a second. Then he leaped forward, his
powerful legs driving him ahead as the groping hand finally found the
switch and he saw the fingers tense as they started to move the lever
downward which would plunge the car into darkness.
A blanket of darkness engulfed the interior of the observation car and
Bob heard the faint click of the switch. His body was hurtling forward
with a momentum impossible to stop and he crashed almost headlong into
the steel partition at the end of the car.
Bob was dazed by the shock of the impact and he dropped to the floor, too
bruised to move for a moment.
Then a finger of light sought him out. The tiny ray was almost blinding
in its brilliance and the beam swept Bob’s face as he struggled to get
up. He was on his knees and facing the mysterious beam when there was a
sharp blow on his face. The impact was not hard, but there was no
mistaking that he had been struck.
A sudden nausea swept Bob and he felt his power of control ebbing
rapidly. He tried to cry out, but his tongue seemed to swell and stick in
his mouth. His arms dropped at his sides and he felt his knees wobbling.
In spite of everything he could do he collapsed on the floor of the
observation car.
The last thing Bob remembered was the thin beam of light which still
sought him out with relentless steadiness and then a mocking laugh, heavy
and daring, that might easily have come from the lips of Joe Hamsa had he
been on the Southern Limited.