“Better get to bed and enjoy a few hours sleep, young man. You’re starting to look like a fish that’s been out of water too long.”
“I’m coming along all right,” declared Bob. “As soon as I have a sandwich I’ll feel better. I’m convinced that Hamsa is on this train some place and I’m going to find him.”
The conductor stared at Bob as though he thought the young federal agent was mentally unbalanced. Then, shaking his head and muttering to himself, he started forward to continue his greatly interrupted work on his reports.
The porter came back with a tray on which were two large, thick, meat sandwiches and a glass of milk and Bob sat down in the observation car to enjoy the late lunch.
The flagman, at the back end of the car, was inclined to be more talkative than the conductor.
“Everyone on the train’s shaky tonight,” he confided. “We got a message we picked up on the run a few minutes ago and a fast freight that’s been coming along right after us wasn’t able to find any trace of Hamsa along the stretch of road where we know he disappeared.”
“How fast were we running along that section?” asked Bob.
“Never under fifty, and most of the time between fifty-five and sixty-five.”
“Then a man wouldn’t have much chance of jumping from the train without such serious injury that he would be unable to get away?” pressed Bob.
“I should say he wouldn’t. At the very least he would get a broken leg and he wouldn’t be able to get far from the right-of-way in that condition. And remember that it’s been storming hard ever since yesterday afternoon.”