“At telegraphing, I mean.”
“How do you know?”
“Heard him, saw him.”
“When, where?”
“Just a little bit ago up at the old switch tower. You know they left one or two broken instruments there when they moved the general outfit. Wires down, but one or two good sharp keys still in place. I was snoozing on the bench outside. Suddenly--click! click! Then the regular call. Then the emergency--say, I thought I was back at Dover with old Joslyn Drake, the crack operator of the Midland Central. You know I put in a year at the key. Not much at it myself, but you bet your life I can tell fine work. Why, that lad ran the roll like a veteran. Then he began on speed. I crept closer. There he was, thinking no one saw him, rattling the key till it pounded like a piston on a sixty mile an hour run.”
Ralph was a good deal astonished. Glen was a pretty young fellow to line up in the way that Dan Lacey described. Then a kind of vague disagreeable idea came into the mind of the young railroader. He recalled the old grandfather and his two villainous associates, for such they had proved themselves to be the evening previous.
“Things are dovetailing in a queer sort of way,” reflected Ralph. “Perhaps a little investigation will give me a clew as to those fellows who slipped me in the tunnel.”
When he had gathered up the scattered grain Glen Palmer glanced uneasily all about him as if looking for Ike Slump. Then he became his natural self.
“I’m awfully glad to see you,” he said to Ralph, “although it seems as if there’s a fight or a smashup, or some outlandish thing on the books every time I meet you.”
“Well that doesn’t matter so long as you come out of it all right, eh, Glen?” propounded Ralph brightly.