“The waybill?” exclaimed Hippy.
“That carload of draft horses must weigh about a million pounds,” declared Stacy.
“I don’t mean ‘weigh,’ I mean ‘way,’” laughed Grace.
“That’s right, Hippy. Odd it hadn’t occurred to me,” nodded Tom.
“The waybill is the shipping orders for the railroad by which conductors of trains are informed where the cars of their train are to be dropped off,” Grace informed her companions. “This waybill bears the number of the car and names its contents and destination. It might not be a bad idea to see what the waybill says. I don’t suppose the agent has examined it. If it is our car the mystery is too deep for me to solve.”
“Say, Brown Eyes, you have a wonderful head,” complimented Lieutenant Wingate.
“Remarkable mentality,” agreed Stacy under his breath, giving Tom Gray a sidelong glance, but Tom merely laughed good-naturedly.
Hippy said he would see the agent at once, and started at a brisk walk for the railway station. He returned an hour later.
“Well?” called Tom, when Lieutenant Wingate was still some distance away.
“The car on the siding is not our car at all. Our waybill calls not only for a car from another road, but for a car with a wholly different number. That was a big suggestion, Grace,” added Hippy, smiling at her.