The train was traveling at a wild pace now and Bob almost lost his balance as he walked between the cars. As the anger of the storm deepened, he became more convinced than before that Joe Hamsa was the man he had seen on the station platform and there was something about the wildness of the night and Tully’s sudden illness that caused grave apprehension in Bob’s mind. Chapter VIII TULLY’S PAPERS VANISH ★ When Bob returned to the Pullman, Tully was obviously much refreshed from his deep sleep and he ate the soup with real relish. After he was through and the waiter had gone, Tully spoke to him. “I’ll appreciate it if you’ll give me a hand down to the berth,” he said. “My legs are still a little shaky, but I guess I’m all right otherwise. A good night’s sleep will put me back to normal.” Bob supported Tully and together they walked down to the berth which had been made up. Joe Hamsa was not in the car. “I still can’t figure out what happened to me,” said Tully, shaking his head. “You are sure I wasn’t struck over the head?” he looked at Bob so sharply that Bob was inclined to laugh. “Don’t accuse me of doing a thing like that,” he retorted, but there was no anger in his words. “But I tell you it felt like something struck my face. Then there was a blanket of darkness that settled over me and I couldn’t move or say a word. It was a mighty helpless sort of feeling.” Bob agreed that there had been nothing pleasant about the experience and he helped Tully in getting undressed. Tully drew the letter with its confidential report on the smuggling ring out of an inner pocket. “This goes under my pillow,” he said. “I thought it was kind of foolish for you to read it while Hamsa was in the smoking compartment with you,” said Bob, and a flicker of anger glowed in Tully’s eyes. “Hamsa’s all right,” he replied. “You take care of your copy and I’ll take care of mine.” With that Tully pulled out the flap of the envelope and drew forth the closely typewritten pages which comprised the report. Bob saw a sudden, startled change in Tully’s face, and he leaned closer. “Bob,” whispered the other. “Look at these pages. Am I seeing things?” Bob picked up the handful of data and scanned the typewritten words. Even before he read the printing on the page he knew that something was wrong for the paper was thicker than that upon which his report had been written. But the real shock was when he read the first page. It was a recipe for making dill pickles. “It’s a pickle recipe,” gasped Bob. Tully nodded grimly. “Look at the rest of them!” Bob skimmed through the pages, bending down to examine each one closely. Instead of the confidential data the pages were mimeographed recipes and Bob and Tully stared at each other in amazement. “My report’s been stolen!” It was Tully speaking and he sounded like a stricken man. Then he grasped Bob’s shoulders.