The case was of well worn brown leather securely fastened with two small but sturdy padlocks. There was something soft inside, but the leather was too thick for his fingers to ascertain just what the contents might be.
The porter came through the car and stopped.
“Haven’t seen anything more of the man in lower nine?” asked Bob.
The Pullman employe shook his gray head.
“No sir, and I don’t know whether to make up his berth.”
“You might as well save yourself work. I don’t believe I’d make it up,” advised Bob, and the porter, deciding to accept the counsel, went on up the aisle.
Bob walked back to the observation and lounge car. There was only one passenger who had not retired to his berth in the forward Pullmans. He was an elderly man, thin, but with an expression on his face which gave one a feeling of tremendous vitality. He was deeply engrossed in reading and Bob picked up a newspaper which had been brought aboard the train at one of the Carolina towns.
But he found reading a difficult task. His mind was centered on the disappearance of Hamsa. It seemed absolutely incredible that a man could have vanished from a fast train while it was speeding through the night between stations. Yet apparently that was just what had taken place.
Bob knew there was an answer to the problem, and it was probably something ridiculously simple, but it evaded his every mental effort and he finally turned to the comic page of the newspaper for a chuckle or two at the antics of the comic characters.
The other passenger in the car put down the magazine he had been reading and went forward to his berth in another car. Bob was alone in the observation lounge without even a trainman in the car.