“Hamsa isn’t going to be an easy man to take if he’s hiding under one of the traps. Wait until I can go forward and get a gun out of my bag.”
“I’ll wait,” agreed the flagman, who obviously had not thought that they might encounter armed resistance.
Bob, running lightly, sped through the two forward Pullmans and into car forty-three. His own Gladstone was still under the berth in which Tully was sleeping so heavily.
The young federal agent bent down and dragged it out. He knew just where he had put the gun and his hands sought it after he had opened the bag. But the weapon was not where Bob had placed it and a new feeling of anxiety gripped him.
With desperate hands he rummaged through the bag. The gun and box of cartridges he had placed there were gone!
Bob picked up the big bag and carried it to a berth further down the aisle where he snapped on the seat lights. Once more his hands ran through the clothing which filled the bag.
The revolver was gone, but the rifle he was taking south with him was intact, although the ammunition for it was missing. Some one had looted the bag and in doing so had left Bob defenseless against any armed attack.
The discovery that his own bag had been searched so disturbed Bob that for a moment he forgot the important confidential papers on the smuggling case which he had placed there.
When he recalled them, he started another search of the bag, turning clothes topsy-turvy in his search for the envelope and the precious information which it contained.
Bob searched both sides of the Gladstone with a heart that grew heavier with apprehension as each second passed. There was no question now—his own confidential papers had been stolen.