The conductor shook his head in glum perplexity. Events were happening too swiftly for him to comprehend. First valuable papers had been stolen, then a gun, and a federal agent had disappeared from his berth. The trainman would welcome the end of the division and his run. The brakeman, coming back from the head end on his rounds, stopped in the Pullman. “One of you fellows leave the vestibule door up ahead open?” he asked. “No,” replied Bob sharply. “Well, some one did. I closed it when I came along.” A look of apprehension flitted across Bob’s face. “Which vestibule was open?” he demanded. “Left hand one on the car just ahead,” replied the brakeman. Without further questioning, Bob dashed ahead, a mounting fear tugging at his heart. The conductor and brakeman followed him through the car and out into the vestibule where the steady clacking of the trucks beneath the Pullmans filled the air. Bob stepped across the gap into the car ahead. There was a splotch of water on the steel floor of the vestibule where the wind had lashed the rain in while the door was open. “This the door that was open?” asked Bob. “Right. I closed it less than a minute ago,” replied the brakeman. Bob dropped down to his knees and examined the floor of the vestibule. At first there appeared to be nothing unusual there, but his sharp eyes finally caught sight of a small, dark spot. It was soft and fresh and he touched it with his fingers. Bob drew his hand back where the light was better and examined the dark marks on the tips of his fingers. From behind came an involuntary gasp from the brakeman. The dark spots on Bob’s fingers were blood and the young federal agent looked up at the trainmen with eyes that were hard and piercing. “Stop this train!” he ordered. “Tully Ross has been thrown from the train. We’ve got to go back.” The conductor was silent for a moment, staring at the dark stains on Bob’s fingers. Then he shook his head. “We can’t stop and go back. There’s a fast freight following right behind us and they might ram us. We’ll have to run to the nearest station with a night operator. Then we can get word back to division headquarters.” “But we’ve got to stop. He may be seriously injured.” The conductor looked at his watch. Just then the air brakes went on and streams of sparks flew from the wet trucks underneath. “We’re slowing down now for Robertson where we take on water. There’s a night operator there. We can send a message back and get new orders.” The brakeman threw open the vestibule door on the right side and almost before the train came to a stop Bob and the conductor were running forward. When they reached the small station Bob dictated the message and the conductor told the operator to rush it through. “That freight’s only ten miles up the line. It’s at Quasqueton now. Maybe we can catch it,” said the operator.