Chapter XIV

THE LIGHTS GO OUT
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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.