“I know it. Heard her pulling up Storm Mountain.”
“And there isn’t another until the accommodation at 5:15.”
“Which I’m not going to take, thank goodness.”
“Well, then—” there was mild questioning in the agent’s voice.
“It’s just a private matter I’m working on, Mr. Dawson,” said Bob, making sure no early morning travelers were sitting on the deserted benches in the dimly-lighted waiting room of the station.
“Oh, up to your old tricks, eh, Bob?” The agent knew the reputation the lad was earning for himself.
“Something like that—yes.”
“Another Jennie Thorp case, Bob?”
“Not exactly. But tell me, Mr. Dawson, did a couple of men get on the milk train just now?”
“Yes—two men—one with an iron hook in place of a hand.”