“How fast were we running along that section?” asked Bob. “Never under fifty, and most of the time between fifty-five and sixty-five.” “Then a man wouldn’t have much chance of jumping from the train without such serious injury that he would be unable to get away?” pressed Bob. “I should say he wouldn’t. At the very least he would get a broken leg and he wouldn’t be able to get far from the right-of-way in that condition. And remember that it’s been storming hard ever since yesterday afternoon.” Bob knew that the trainman was right. It would have been almost sure suicide to have leaped from the speeding Limited and he was more convinced than ever that Hamsa was somewhere aboard the train. “We’ve been over every car from head to rear and back again,” said Bob. “Have you any idea where he could hide?” The flagman removed his cap and scratched his head. “He didn’t go through the baggage car?” he asked. “No,” replied Bob. “How about under the steps in the vestibules? Did you lift all of the traps?” Bob’s startled expression was sufficient answer to the flagman, who got hastily to his feet. “No, we didn’t look under the traps,” admitted Bob. “Then we’d better get busy. We can do it alone, working ahead through each car.” The flagman started for the back end of the train, evidently intent on checking the trap doors on the observation platform when a sharp call from Bob stopped him. “Hamsa isn’t going to be an easy man to take if he’s hiding under one of the traps. Wait until I can go forward and get a gun out of my bag.” “I’ll wait,” agreed the flagman, who obviously had not thought that they might encounter armed resistance. Bob, running lightly, sped through the two forward Pullmans and into car forty-three. His own Gladstone was still under the berth in which Tully was sleeping so heavily. The young federal agent bent down and dragged it out. He knew just where he had put the gun and his hands sought it after he had opened the bag. But the weapon was not where Bob had placed it and a new feeling of anxiety gripped him. With desperate hands he rummaged through the bag. The gun and box of cartridges he had placed there were gone! Bob picked up the big bag and carried it to a berth further down the aisle where he snapped on the seat lights. Once more his hands ran through the clothing which filled the bag. The revolver was gone, but the rifle he was taking south with him was intact, although the ammunition for it was missing. Some one had looted the bag and in doing so had left Bob defenseless against any armed attack. The discovery that his own bag had been searched so disturbed Bob that for a moment he forgot the important confidential papers on the smuggling case which he had placed there. When he recalled them, he started another search of the bag, turning clothes topsy-turvy in his search for the envelope and the precious information which it contained.