“What was his appearance, madam?” asked the lot agent.
“He was a thin, dark complexioned man, with side whiskers coming half way down his cheeks.”
“And you say he got out of the rear end of the car?”
“Yes, sir.”
“He won’t get on the train again,” said the agent turning to Rodney. “He thinks the casket valuable enough to pay him for the interruption of his journey.”
“What shall I do then?” asked Rodney, feeling helpless and at a loss which way to turn.
“Follow him,” said the agent briefly. “He will probably stop over in the village a day and resume his journey tomorrow.”
“Even if I found him I am afraid I shouldn’t know how to deal with him.”
“Then I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll stop over with you and help you make it hot for him. I’ve had a spite against thieves ever since I had a valuable overcoat stolen in one of my journeys.”
“I shall feel very much obliged to you, Mr. Woods, but won’t it interfere with your business?”