“You’ve been reading too many mystery stories,” jeered the conductor.
Bob led the way to the rear platform of the train and they stepped out into the raw bluster of the night.
The young federal agent took the target pistol out of his coat pocket and slipped the catch off the safety while the conductor focused the beam from his flash light on one of the traps in the floor of the vestibule.
The flagman, his foot poised to kick the catch, saw Bob nod and the next second the trap door swung upward as unseen springs provided the momentum. They stared down at the empty steps and the rays of the flash light, penetrating even beyond, showed the ends of the ties as they projected beyond the rain-swept ballast.
Down went the trap door and the flagman turned to the other side of the platform. Bob felt his heart beating harder. Actually he hardly knew what he would do if the trap, flying upward, were to reveal the hunched figure of Joe Hamsa.
The flagman kicked the release lever and the door sprung upward. Once more they stared at vacant steps and an endless row of marching ties.
They returned to the observation car.
“Hope you have a nice party,” grinned the flagman as Bob and the conductor started forward to continue the search of the vestibule steps.
“Seems like kind of a foolish thing to do,” grumbled the conductor.
“That may be, but I’m convinced that Hamsa is still aboard this train and the vestibule steps are the last place I can think of,” retorted Bob.