Maddox doubted that he would be followed; nevertheless, he wanted to place himself safely beyond the immediate reach of either his confederates or the law.
Each succeeding hour had given him new confidence. The fleeing man knew that he had chosen the obvious direction for flight. That did not worry him. After all, he might have gone West, or taken a steamship for a foreign port.
To-morrow, he would be safe, and worth a quarter of a million dollars — with no one to dispute his possession.
He hoped that his pals had lost their lives in their attack on The Shadow. For with The Shadow gone, there remained only Garry Elvers — a mere bodyguard of a slain gang leader.
Maddox arose restlessly and went into the next car. He opened the door of the drawing-room and entered. There, he inspected his bags which he had placed in the upper berth. They were heavy, for they contained the greater portion of the swag.
The man laughed moodily. Greedy to the core, he still thought of those thousands that remained back in Theodore Galvin’s cache. Then another thought struck him. Suppose one — or two — of his pals were still alive? After all, their share would satisfy them sufficiently to keep them off his trail.
The thought eased his disappointment at having left part of the booty.
Maddox began to feel tired. He had smoked innumerable cigarettes in the lounge car, between his many journeys to the drawing-room to see that the cash was safe.
He was glad that he had taken the drawing-room. Here, he could be undisturbed, behind a locked door. His restlessness was leaving him; his fatigue was increasing. He kicked off his shoes and removed his coat and vest. He laid down in the berth.
Then a thought disturbed him. The customs officials!