The gate closed, a gong rang twice, somewhere up ahead an engine gave half a dozen spasmodic coughs, and the forward section of the train began to pull out. McAllister, gasping for breath, a terrible pain in his side, his ulster seeming to weigh a thousand pounds, stumbled upon the platform of the car next the last. As he did so, the slim young man rushed to the gate and commenced to beat frantically upon it. The gate-man, indignant, approached to make use of severe language.
"Open this gate!" yelled the man. "There's a burglar in disguise on that train. Didn't you see him run through? Open up!"
"Whata yer givin' us?" answered Gate. "Who are yer, anyhow?"
"I'm a detective sergeant!" shrieked the one outside, excitedly exhibiting a shield. "I order you to open this gate and let me through."
Gate looked with exasperating deliberateness after the receding train; its red lights were just passing out of the station.
"Oh, go to—!" said he through the bars.
"Is this car 2241?" inquired the breathless McAllister at the same moment, as he staggered inside.
"Sho, boss," replied the porter, grinning from ear to ear as he received the ticket and its accompanying half-dollar. "Drawin'-room, sah? Yes-sah. Right here, sah! Yo' frien', he arrived some time ago. May Ah enquire what personage yo represent, sah? A most magnificent sword, sah!"
"Where's the smoking compartment?" asked McAllister.