Well, that could be managed, he decided. The train would still be in the United States when he awoke. He could leave it, buy a car and cross the border.
Canadian customs officers were not so strict as those of the United States. He could stow the money safely out of sight in an automobile. It would never do to have the customs officers see it.
Between the motion of the train and this new worry, the fleeing man found slumber difficult. When Maddox finally dropped off to sleep, he passed into a state of deep oblivion. His hand lay flat upon the automatic at his side.
The train sped northward, and the man slept on.
THE LIMITED was speeding rapidly across an open stretch of country. It seemed like a flashing sweep of light amidst a pitch-black waste.
But a new sound mingled with the roaring of the train to disturb the sleeping countryside. Overhead, a plane was purring, rapidly passing the Limited with swift, birdlike flight.
The plane soon outstripped the train, making the locomotive slow in comparison.
Twenty miles farther on, the engineer of the Limited applied the brakes in response to a signal which he saw. The train came to a slow stop. The door of a vestibule was opened; the platform was raised and the conductor descended the steps.
Out of the darkness came two men, muffled in heavy overcoats. One stood close beside the other, as though his hand was pressed against his companion’s body.
The man with both hands free drew back his coat and showed a badge.