The wheels had been drumming over the rail-joints for perhaps half an hour, and the disappearance of the light which had filtered through the car door had announced the fall of darkness, when there came a screeching of brakes.
“Where do you suppose we are now, Mr. Boyle?” asked Jack from his box.
“It’s the grade just north of Axford Road. When we hit the up-grade two miles beyond we may begin to expect something. It was along there I figured that the—
“What’s that?”
Both listened. “One of the brakemen, isn’t it?” suggested Jack.
“What is he doing down on the edge of the car roof?”
The next sound was of something slapping against the car door.
Suddenly the detective gave vent to a cry that was barely suppressed.
“Jack, I’ve got it! I’ve got it at last!” he whispered excitedly.
“The freight thieves have bought up one of the brakemen! He lets himself down to the car door by a rope, opens it, and throws the stuff out!”