The Limited settled down to its steady stride again and Bob, tense and crouching waited. His breath was coming in short jerks and he was afraid that his heart was pounding so hard its beats would be audible to the other who was intent on catching him by surprise in the darkened berth.
By straining his eyes Bob finally made out the approaching shadow that was Hamsa. He drew back his right arm and waited.
Hamsa came nearer, treading cautiously lest he alarm the youth he believed was sleeping soundly in the berth.
Suddenly a beam of light shot out from Hamsa’s hand as he turned on a flash light, but the rays fell only on the rumpled bedclothes.
Bob heard a smothered exclamation from the other and before Hamsa could swing the beam of the flash light around in search of him he struck forth with the blackjack.
Just as Bob swung the weapon the trucks hit a sag in the track and the young federal agent was thrown partially off balance. He had aimed at Hamsa’s head, and although his blow missed that the weapon crashed down on his shoulder and Bob heard a sharp cry of pain.
He jerked back the weapon and struck again and again. Each time he heard a cry of pain and then the flash light thudded to the floor and its beam went out.
They went at it hand to hand then, Hamsa wresting the blackjack away from Bob and hurling it to the far end of the car. The other man was much older and twice as heavy as Bob, but he was not as lithe and his fists could not move as rapidly.
It was a bitter struggle there in the narrow, darkened aisle of the Pullman. Hamsa kicked out viciously and the blow caught Bob in the stomach. He felt sick all over and dropped into the aisle, crouching there and seeking temporary shelter until he felt able to resume the battle.
Hamsa bent down and searched for the flash light and Bob lashed out at him with one foot. The blow caught the other in the face and was answered by a startled exclamation of pain and rage.