Working together and moving cautiously, they raised up the trap door on every vestibule clear up to the baggage car. There was no one hidden on the steps.
“If there was ever anyone there, he got off at Robertson,” said the conductor.
But Bob shook his head.
“I don’t think so,” he said firmly. “What would a man stop there for? It’s miles from any other town, and there are no good highways nearby to make a get-away in a car.”
“Maybe you’re right, but there’s no one on this train.”
Bob wasn’t so sure. A crafty man such as Hamsa had shown himself to be could have moved to the shelter of one of the rear vestibules while the Limited was standing at Robertson for Bob had checked these vestibules before the train stopped there.
“I’m going to work from the front to the back,” declared Bob, and the conductor looked at him suspiciously as though thinking that the strain of the night might have unbalanced Bob. But he went along without complaint when the federal agent started the hunt again.
Car by car they inspected the train. The small dark spot they had found in one vestibule had dried and Bob didn’t dare think what might have happened to Tully. While there was no love lost between them, Bob had no desire to see any harm come to the other.
As they entered the observation car, the Limited started slowing down.
The conductor, pressing his face against one of the rain-washed panes of glass, peered ahead.