"Yes, suh," said the porter, the whites of his eyes growing.
"Follow these instructions and you will be ten dollars richer when we draw into Omaha. That will be all."
Mathison left the door wide open until the arrival of the conductor, when he produced the envelope he had so mysteriously received. It contained his tickets. After surrendering these, he closed and locked the door and took inventory. Imitation mahogany—steel. Above the little door in the lavatory was an electric fan. He discovered that one of the windows went up easily. When his bunk was made up he would be able to reach the light and fan buttons without difficulty.
"Well, Malachi, old scout, this is America. How do you like it?"
Malachi teetered on his perch grouchily.
"I'm beginning to think that you're Irish—a Sinn-Feiner. You don't like anybody, anything, or anywhere. Poor little beggar! I wonder if you'll ever chatter again. I suppose I'd better break the news to you. When we get to New York I'm going to give you away. Yes, sir. To the dearest old lady a chap ever had the good fortune to meet. To have met a woman like that ... when she was young! My luck! They call us idiotic Yankees, these Huns, Malachi; but we're going to fool them. Ever see a spider weave his web—and then wait for the fly to walk in? Wait and see!"
Mathison turned slowly and faced the rear partition. He stretched out his arms and curled his fingers sinisterly, his jaws set, a savage luster in his eyes.
"With these two hands, by God!... All right, Bob. Trust me to see it through."
But how was he going to secure that blue-print—No. 9? He possessed the power to search every human being on this train. That would, if used, serve to recover the print; but it would set Messrs. the Flies winging to parts unknown the moment they suspected what was on foot. The long arm of the Secret Service at his beck and call, and he would not dare to use it! Beyond identifying himself to the watching agents by the display of the green ribbon, he would never dare call for help. His enemies would be in this train, probably in this very car: they would be on the same trains all the way to New York, whither he must draw them. Once there, he would not have much difficulty in recovering No. 9. But if they mailed it! If it entered their calculations to mail it!
How many against him? He would never know until the end. The Yellow Typhoon? Let the vipers beware! Morgan had described her minutely, but Mathison doubted he would recognize her unless she entered some extraordinary situation.