The time dragged very slowly.
Hour after hour passed by and the night passed and another day came.
Hunger and thirst were now added to the miseries they already endured and the strain they were under brought them to the verge of fainting.
Toward noontime the train paused at a way station to take on some freight and the box in which the detectives were packed was thrown over to make room for it.
As it struck the floor, Old King Brady struck his face forcibly against the side of the box and made his nose bleed.
He gave a deep groan and one of the freight handlers heard it.
"Good Lor'!" he exclaimed in startled tones, as he glared around. "What's that? Sounded like a man's voice."
Another groan from the old detective attracted his attention to the packing case, and he saw a tiny stream of blood trickling out of it through one of the cracks, upon the floor.
A thrill of horror darted through the man.
He began to suspect a corpse was in the box, and visions of a dreadful murder mystery floated through his mind.