“The only clip of cartridges I have for it are in the gun,” he explained, “so be careful on the ammunition if you get in a tight place.” Bob and the conductor returned to the forward coach. “Which end of the train are you going to start from?” asked the conductor. “We’ll go back to the observation car and work forward,” said Bob. “The flagman is back there waiting for me.” “I’ll go with you. I want him to stay on the back end and protect us if we have to make a sudden stop. The track is getting soft and there’s a fast freight that’s pounding along after us too close for comfort. I don’t want them piling into the back end of the Limited on a night like this.” It was late as they started back once more and most of the passengers in the day coaches, curled into grotesque attitudes on the seats, were asleep. In the Pullmans the solid rows of green curtains swung to and fro as the train sped southward. Bob thought of the possibility that Joe Hamsa might be hiding in one of the unoccupied berths, but he knew that the train crew had made a thorough search of each berth. Standing a lonely vigil in the observation car had done little to help the jumpy nerves of the flagman and he was obviously relieved when he found that the conductor had decided to help Bob in the search of the vestibule steps. “Better turn down the lights in this car,” advised the conductor. “All of the passengers on the Pullmans are in bed.” “Nothing doing,” insisted the flagman. “This is one night when I want plenty of light in this car and I’d just as soon have plenty of company of the right kind. I thought I heard some one moving around several times.” “You’ve been reading too many mystery stories,” jeered the conductor. Bob led the way to the rear platform of the train and they stepped out into the raw bluster of the night. The young federal agent took the target pistol out of his coat pocket and slipped the catch off the safety while the conductor focused the beam from his flash light on one of the traps in the floor of the vestibule. The flagman, his foot poised to kick the catch, saw Bob nod and the next second the trap door swung upward as unseen springs provided the momentum. They stared down at the empty steps and the rays of the flash light, penetrating even beyond, showed the ends of the ties as they projected beyond the rain-swept ballast. Down went the trap door and the flagman turned to the other side of the platform. Bob felt his heart beating harder. Actually he hardly knew what he would do if the trap, flying upward, were to reveal the hunched figure of Joe Hamsa. The flagman kicked the release lever and the door sprung upward. Once more they stared at vacant steps and an endless row of marching ties. They returned to the observation car. “Hope you have a nice party,” grinned the flagman as Bob and the conductor started forward to continue the search of the vestibule steps. “Seems like kind of a foolish thing to do,” grumbled the conductor.