The porter came to tell them that their berths were ready.
"It's hardly worth while to turn in," said Warry, yawning. "I shudder at the thought of getting up at three o'clock." "But," he added, "if we're on the right track, this time to-morrow night they'll probably be welcoming us home with brass bands and the freedom of the city. Perhaps they'll have a public meeting at the Board of Trade. Cheer up, Jim; those detectives will go out of business if we really take the boy home."
Wheaton smiled wearily; he did not relish Raridan's jesting.
"Will your imagination never rest?" growled Saxton, knocking the ashes from his pipe.
CHAPTER XXXV SHOTS IN THE DARK
The night wind of the plain blew cold in their faces as they stepped out upon the Great River platform. There was a hint of storm in the air and clouds rode swiftly overhead. The voices of the trainmen and the throb of the locomotive, resting for its long climb mountainward, broke strangely upon the silence. A great figure muffled in a long ulster came down the platform toward the vestibule from which the trio had descended.
"Hello," called Raridan cheerily, "there's only one like that! Good morning, Bishop!"
"Good morning, gentlemen," said Bishop Delafield, peering into their faces. The waiting porter took his bags from him. "Has the boy been found yet?"