Bob never knew just how long he was unconscious, but it must have been at least half an hour before his mind started to clear and he felt some one shaking his shoulders. His head pounded painfully and it was difficult for him to lift his heavy-lidded eyes. Some one moistened his lips and his tongue felt better. He tried to talk, but some one cut him short. “He’s coming around now. Lift him into a chair.” The command was obeyed and Bob felt himself being carried into a chair. Faintly he heard the steady clack of train trucks and he knew that he was still on the Southern Limited. When his eyes finally focused and his blurred vision cleared he saw the train conductor leaning over him. A Pullman porter was just behind and in the background another trainman could be seen. “What happened?” It was the voice of the train conductor. Bob shook his head. He was still too weak to answer that question, but his eyes shot toward the end of the car as though he half expected to see a hand move around the corner and grope for the light switch. In his ears the mocking laugh he had heard still echoed. “Where are we?” asked the young federal agent, and when the conductor answered Bob knew that the Limited was far behind its usual fast schedule into the southland. Bob looked sharply at the trainmen. “Have you seen anything of the man in lower nine in the last hour?” The question was sharp and he saw the look of surprise that passed over their faces. Denials were quick and emphatic. Quite definitely they had not seen Joe Hamsa on the Limited. Bob shook his head. That was strange for he was sure that it was Hamsa’s voice he had heard in the car just before he lost consciousness. “Tell us what happened,” urged the train conductor, who was more than a little disturbed at the misfortunes which were befalling the passengers on the Limited that night. One federal agent had been taken suddenly ill, another passenger had disappeared, the train had been flagged down at a lonely station for a telegram, and now the second federal agent had been found unconscious in the observation car. It was, admitted the trainman, too much for him to untangle. Bob felt more like talking now, and he told his story briefly. “I turned toward the forward end of the car just in time to see some one’s hand groping around the corner for the light switch. I jumped for the switch, but the lights were snapped out before I could reach it.” Bob paused for a moment, then went on. “I crashed into the steel partition at the end of the lounge section of the car and fell down. Before I could get to my feet whoever had turned off the lights snapped on a small but very brilliant flash light and focused it on my eyes. Before I could get to my feet there was a sharp impact on my face. It was just as though some one had struck me a sharp blow. After that a wave of nausea swept over me and that was the last thing I remember until a few minutes ago.”