Once, when the lights were against the train and it came to a jolting stop, Curlie rose to his knees and stared ahead.
He could hardly make out the intersection names, but thought it was Congress and Wabash, a long way from the place he had left when entering upon this surprising adventure.
He looked at his watch. It showed six o’clock. “They’ll be looking for me,” he told himself. “Supposing something happens to me and I do not return at all. They will search the city, the country, over for me.” He thought of good aviation pals who would spare no pains to discover his whereabouts.
“They will always believe in me, as I in them,” he told himself stoutly.
“But there will be others. Some will believe I have betrayed my trust, carried away that package and left the country to live on stolen riches.”
Riches? What did the package contain? Fritz Lieber had said it was not bank notes. What then could it be?
“Who knows?” he grumbled to himself. “Only one thing is certain. My company will be obliged to pay a thousand dollars if I do not get it back. It’s insured for that much, the highest registered letter insurance. I must have it back. I—”
Once more the train came to a jolting stop. This time as he looked ahead he saw that their train stood squarely across another track. Then he saw something that threw him into a panic. The man he had followed so far was coolly climbing out of his car, which at that moment stood on the intersecting track.
“Defeat!” he whispered hoarsely.
It appeared to be true. So closely did the cars hug the wall that it was impossible for him to climb out and follow.