Dean went below and took breakfast, not being in the habit of waiting for his employer. Mr. Kirby entered the breakfast-room as he was leaving it.
"We take the ten o'clock train," he said briefly. "Don't leave the hotel."
"All right, sir, I'll stay in the office."
At ten o'clock they stepped on board a Western bound train. Dean feared that Kirby would miss his letter, and make inquiries about it, but its loss appeared not to have been discovered. They took seats, and the train started. Dean caught Kirby regarding him with a peculiar gaze, and it made him uneasy. Was he devising some plot, of which Dean was to be the victim?
Two hours later the train had traversed fifty miles. The train boy came through the car, carrying a supply of the latest novels. Kirby was not in general much of a reader, but on this occasion he stopped the boy and looked over his books.
"I think I will take this book," he said, selecting a Pinkerton detective story.
"I sell a good many of that series," said the boy glibly.
Kirby put his hand into his pocket, and withdrew it with a startled expression.
"I can't find my pocket-book," he said.
Several of the passengers looked round, and apprehensively felt for their own wallets.