“No station, Bob, but we stop at three white posts to pick up milk. Farm-stations we call them—not regular stops for any except my train. These fellows could have gotten off anywhere along there, and they probably did.”
“Shucks!” ejaculated Bob. “That’s it! I might have known they wouldn’t give themselves away by coming to the place for which they have tickets. They got off at some place where they wouldn’t be noticed. Well, I guess we might as well go back,” he told the constable.
“How about searching the train?” asked the latter eagerly. “They might be concealed somewhere on board, Bob.”
“No, I don’t think so,” said the conductor. “They just dropped off at one of the white post stops between Tottenville and Andover. Why, was there anything wrong about them?”
“Suspicions, mostly, that’s all,” said Bob.
The last can rattled aboard, the conductor gave the signal, the engineer gave two toots to the whistle and the milk train pulled away from Perry Junction.
“Guess they had you barkin’ up the wrong tree, didn’t they, Bob?” asked the constable as they rode on back to Cliffside.
“In a way, yes. But, after all, maybe it’s just as well it turned out like this.”
“Just as well, Bob? Why, don’t you want to help find the rascal that robbed Hiram?”
“Yes, but I don’t believe either of these fellows did.”