Two short, impatient blasts sounded up ahead and the Limited jerked into motion as Bob and the conductor swung back onto the train.
Bob had the borrowed revolver in one hand and as he swung up after the conductor one hand slipped on the wet handrail and he nearly fell. To save himself he grasped the railing with the other hand and dropped the gun just as the Limited rolled over a small culvert. It was impossible to stop and retrieve the gun and Bob was unarmed for a second time that night.
“I guess the fellow you’re hunting has disappeared for good,” said the conductor as he lowered the trap in the vestibule.
Bob, shaking the rain off his coat, nodded absent-mindedly and the trainman went forward while Bob returned to the Pullman. A queer feeling went through his body as he walked down the silent car. It was from this car that their confidential documents had disappeared and it was from the very berth that Bob had intended occupying that Tully had vanished.
The porter was evidently keeping as far away from the car as possible for he failed to answer Bob’s summons. However, a berth farther down the car had been made up and Bob decided to slip off his shoes and lie down there to rest.
With a little relaxation he might be able to think better; perhaps even to unravel all of the strange events which had taken place on the train since it had left Washington.
The Limited sped southward steadily and the clicking of the trucks soon lulled Bob to sleep in spite of his efforts to keep awake.
The young federal agent had no idea how long he had been asleep when he awoke suddenly with the breathless blackness of the car all around him. He rallied his thoughts.
The lights in the car had been on the last he could remember, for he had not drawn the curtains of his berth.
Bob sat upright in the berth and waited. The trucks were still echoing the pace of the train and Bob thought that the porter might have snapped the wrong switch.