“I don’t know what happened,” he mumbled, shaking his head slowly. “My mind seems so heavy. I can’t think.”
“Better take it easy for a while,” advised Bob. “Here, stretch out on this couch. I’ll get the porter to bring you a blanket.”
Bob stepped out and called the porter who was in the other end of the car, and, thus far, unaware that anything unusual had taken place in the smoking compartment. At Bob’s instructions he brought a blanket and placed it over Tully. Then he brought in a pillow and the federal agent was made as comfortable as possible.
“Want me to make up a berth?” asked the porter, but Tully shook his head.
“Not now. I’ll be all right here. Just let me rest.”
Bob’s keen eyes roved around the smoking compartment. The papers which had been in Tully’s confidential envelope had been placed on the opposite couch, evidently by Hamsa or the Pullman conductor. Bob caught a quick glance from Tully and sensed that the other wanted the papers put away at once.
The young federal agent stepped over to the leather couch, scooped up the sheets of typewritten paper, and placed them in the envelope.
“Thanks,” said Tully, when Bob handed the package to him. He slipped the documents into an inner pocket of his coat, closed his eyes, and was soon in a deep sleep.
This might have been alarming had not Tully’s breathing been deep and natural and the color in his cheeks more normal.
“I think he’s coming around all right,” said Hamsa, who had remained in the smoking compartment. “Looks to me like it might have been an attack of acute indigestion.”