“Various motives have been brought forward. The Rover, some say, was kidnaped for ransom. He is the all-important factor in the game to be played at the end of the week. Without him Old Midway cannot hope to win. For this reason the kidnapers may have believed that a sum might be extorted from officials of the university for his return. Knowing the stand that President Lovell of Old Midway has taken against kidnapers, and the work the Crime Institute of that university has done in this connection, it is the opinion of those close to the president that no ransom will be paid.
“We have before us the question: Was the Red Rover kidnaped for ransom or as a retaliation for work against master criminals carried on by the university? There are those who will whisper that the school against whom the Red Rover was to have played is behind this affair. This, to any fair-minded person, is unthinkable.
“Sergeants Drew Lane and Tom Howe, two of the keenest young minds of the city’s detective force, have been assigned to the case. It is the hope of the entire city that their labors will bear fruit and that the Red Rover’s beloved sorrel top will be seen in the line when the line-up is formed for the greatest game of the year.”
An hour had not passed after the discovery of the crime, when the broad-shouldered, athletic Drew Lane, with derby pushed well back on his head, stood beside his slim, hawk-nosed partner overlooking the car yards at the spot where the Red Rover had vanished.
“Let’s have a look inside the car,” suggested Howe.
“You look.” Drew Lane turned toward the river. “If a speed boat left the river near this spot, there’ll be marks to show. May get a sure tip showing the direction she was headed. That’s important.”
Sergeant Howe swung up to the platform of the car, then slipped quietly inside. The place seemed deserted. A double row of curtains, one on either side, flanked the narrow, dimly lighted aisle.
“Ready for the night. All the other players get on at the depot, I suppose,” Howe mumbled in a low monotone.
He paused to look and listen. He had always found a sleeping car, made up for the night, a spooky affair. Dim lights, silence, long rows of curtains. And behind the curtains, what? Death? Perhaps. Men have died of heart disease in their berths. Died of a knife in the heart as well.
“Capital place for a murder.”