“I say, who put that there?” demanded the fireman with a stare.
“I did. It belonged to Bartley. It’s the ‘personal property’ he was so anxiously searching for.”
Both looked into the bag. Ralph reached in and drew out a white object about the size of an egg. There were a good many others of these in the bag. It crisped in his fingers, as he turned it over inspecting it. He smelled of it, tasted of it, and a queer looking smile hovered over his lips.
“Do you know what it is?” he inquired.
The fireman fumbled it gingerly and then shook his head in the negative.
“It’s soda--caustic soda,” said Ralph. “There’s enough more in there to start a laundry. This black stuff,” and he drew out one of a hundred dark colored cubes--“it tastes like salt. Ah, I think I guess it out. Witness this,” he continued to the fireman, “Bartley sneaked that bag aboard. I wish to keep it for evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
“Trickery, conspiracy. To my way of thinking he intended using that soda to churn the water in the boiler, and half a dozen of those salt bricks would smother the best fire you ever built.”
“Thunder!” ejaculated the fireman excitedly, “there is something up, indeed.”
“So much so, that we want to keep our eyes wide open every foot of the way,” said Ralph emphatically. “In my opinion Bartley was bribed to cripple this locomotive so she couldn’t pull through on time.”