"Now, boys, everyone understands what is to be done?" asked the man from the automobile that had carried the reporters and who John realized was in command.
The men nodded.
"Then scatter out the way we've planned it and remember, we close in on them when Gibson gives the signal, not before."
A queer, nervous feeling gripped the pit of John's stomach as he followed with Benton and Brennan behind the man who led them up the hill as the others branched out in pairs through the brush, spreading out in a semi-circle.
"They each have their stations," the man told Brennan. "They know what to do."
Reaching the crest of the hill they swung down the embankment to their right and stopped behind a clump of bushes. Below them, a hundred feet down, John made out the railroad track. To the left they looked down into a deep gully. On the other side of the track was a deep ravine, dropping abruptly from the roadbed.
"They'll wait down there," the detective explained, pointing to the gully. "He'll put the derailer on the track so as to throw the cars over to the other side in that ditch."
He squatted down behind the clump of bushes and the others followed his example. John looked at his watch. It was ten minutes to eight.
"It's due here at 8:18," said the detective.
"I'd give ten years of my bright young life for a cigarette," said Brennan, sighing heavily.