In an instant all was agitation.
The smoker was first searched, then every car in the train from end to end, but, of course, Joe was not to be found.
McRae and Robson were wild and the rest of the team were glum.
“Of course, he can get that eight o’clock train in the morning,” was the only comfort McRae would allow himself. “That will get him to the grounds in time, but he won’t be in good shape to pitch right after the trip.”
But Jim had reasons of his own for fear, and a cold sweat broke out on him as he thought of Fleming. But he put on as good a face as possible in order to reassure the girls and the rest of Joe’s party, who were torn with anxiety and apprehension.
It was broad daylight when Joe woke to a sense of his surroundings. His head swam and it was some time before he could recall the events of the preceding night.
He was in a shabby room, sitting on the floor against the wall with his hands tied behind him. As his brain cleared he was conscious of a face looking at him curiously. There was a sweet sickly odor in the room.
“Waking up, eh?” asked Moriarty with a grin.
“You’ll pay for this,” said Joe, thickly.