When they reached the small station Bob dictated the message and the conductor told the operator to rush it through.
“That freight’s only ten miles up the line. It’s at Quasqueton now. Maybe we can catch it,” said the operator.
Bob nodded and the operator pounded his key hard with a desperate call for the night man at Quasqueton. It seemed ages before there was an answer. Actually the Quesqueton operator answered in less than a minute.
“Hold the freight,” snapped back the operator beside Bob, and just then the dispatcher at division headquarters chimed in and wanted to know what it was all about.
The story was snapped over the wires as the bent fingers of the operator at Robertson tapped out the facts. The answer from the dispatcher came sharply, first a message to the freight.
“To enginemen and trainmen of extra X703 South. Use all precautions in moving from Quasqueton to Robertson to find federal agent believed thrown from Southern Limited. Report immediately upon arrival at Robertson.”
That message was followed by one to the Limited to proceed. The night operator copied this quickly and handed the thin tissues to the conductor, who was buttoning up his coat before going back into the desolation of that wild night.
“Going on with us, or will you stay here and wait for the freight to come through and report?”
Bob hesitated. If he remained at the lonely station he would have first hand information if Tully was found by the freight crew. On the other hand, he was convinced that Joe Hamsa was still aboard the Southern Limited and that he had on his person the confidential documents on the smuggling ring which had been stolen from Tully and Bob.
The decision was made quickly.