THE LIGHTS GO OUT
★
Back in the Pullman from which Tully had vanished Bob took off the coat
which had protected him from the storm. He sat down opposite the berth
and carefully examined the target revolver. An eerie feeling ran along
his spine. He felt as though some one was watching him and he turned and
scanned the windows of the Pullman. But that was impossible for the
Limited was already running better than thirty miles an hour and no one
could possibly have clung to the side of the train.
The conductor came back through.
“I’m going to finish that search,” declared Bob, and the trainman,
without further comment, joined him.
Working together and moving cautiously, they raised up the trap door on
every vestibule clear up to the baggage car. There was no one hidden on
the steps.
“If there was ever anyone there, he got off at Robertson,” said the
conductor.
But Bob shook his head.
“I don’t think so,” he said firmly. “What would a man stop there for?
It’s miles from any other town, and there are no good highways nearby to
make a get-away in a car.”
“Maybe you’re right, but there’s no one on this train.”
Bob wasn’t so sure. A crafty man such as Hamsa had shown himself to be
could have moved to the shelter of one of the rear vestibules while the
Limited was standing at Robertson for Bob had checked these vestibules
before the train stopped there.
“I’m going to work from the front to the back,” declared Bob, and the
conductor looked at him suspiciously as though thinking that the strain
of the night might have unbalanced Bob. But he went along without
complaint when the federal agent started the hunt again.
Car by car they inspected the train. The small dark spot they had found
in one vestibule had dried and Bob didn’t dare think what might have
happened to Tully. While there was no love lost between them, Bob had no
desire to see any harm come to the other.
As they entered the observation car, the Limited started slowing down.
The conductor, pressing his face against one of the rain-washed panes of
glass, peered ahead.
“Junction showing now,” he said as Bob stepped in after inspecting the
trap doors on the observation platform.
A red lantern was being swung at the junction platform and the minute the
Limited drew to a halt beside the cinder platform Bob and the trainman
started running forward.
A night operator, swathed in a heavy storm coat, greeted them.
“Message from Robertson for Bob Houston,” he told the conductor. “Fine
thing to make a man deliver telegrams at this time of night.”
The conductor didn’t bother to answer the operator’s complaint but handed
the message to Bob, who tore open the envelope and read the brief message
inside.
“Man you reported missing found by freight crew. Has cut on head and is
bruised. Otherwise appears okay. Proceeding on to junction aboard
freight.”
Bob breathed a sigh of relief for he was honestly glad to know that no
serious harm had befallen Tully.
“Are you going on with us or will you stay here?” asked the conductor.
Bob hesitated for only a moment.
“I’m going on,” he decided, for he knew that Tully would be placed in
good hands by the railroad people and could proceed on alone to his
assignment as soon as he felt well enough. In the meantime, Bob was still
convinced that Joe Hamsa was somewhere aboard the Limited for he knew
that Hamsa’s destination, like his own, was somewhere along the east
coast of Florida and he felt sure that Hamsa would lose no time in
attempting to reach it. In view of that, Bob felt the gangster would
continue on the Limited.
Two short, impatient blasts sounded up ahead and the Limited jerked into
motion as Bob and the conductor swung back onto the train.
Bob had the borrowed revolver in one hand and as he swung up after the
conductor one hand slipped on the wet handrail and he nearly fell. To
save himself he grasped the railing with the other hand and dropped the
gun just as the Limited rolled over a small culvert. It was impossible to
stop and retrieve the gun and Bob was unarmed for a second time that
night.
“I guess the fellow you’re hunting has disappeared for good,” said the
conductor as he lowered the trap in the vestibule.
Bob, shaking the rain off his coat, nodded absent-mindedly and the
trainman went forward while Bob returned to the Pullman. A queer feeling
went through his body as he walked down the silent car. It was from this
car that their confidential documents had disappeared and it was from the
very berth that Bob had intended occupying that Tully had vanished.
The porter was evidently keeping as far away from the car as possible for
he failed to answer Bob’s summons. However, a berth farther down the car
had been made up and Bob decided to slip off his shoes and lie down there
to rest.
With a little relaxation he might be able to think better; perhaps even
to unravel all of the strange events which had taken place on the train
since it had left Washington.
The Limited sped southward steadily and the clicking of the trucks soon
lulled Bob to sleep in spite of his efforts to keep awake.
The young federal agent had no idea how long he had been asleep when he
awoke suddenly with the breathless blackness of the car all around him.
He rallied his thoughts.
The lights in the car had been on the last he could remember, for he had
not drawn the curtains of his berth.
Bob sat upright in the berth and waited. The trucks were still echoing
the pace of the train and Bob thought that the porter might have snapped
the wrong switch.
Then he heard a movement down the aisle and knew instantly that some one
was in the car.
Could it be Hamsa? That was the first question that flashed through Bob’s
mind.
The federal agent gathered his feet beneath him. There wasn’t even time
for him to grope under the berth in quest of his shoes for he could hear
the stealthy approach of the intruder.
Bob strained his eyes in an effort to detect the movement of the marauder
but the darkness of the car was too dense. He could only wait, but he
felt that he had an advantage now, for he would be able to take the other
by surprise.