He got up as Bart approached, and the latter noticed that he looked haggard, and swayed as though his head was dizzy. "What is it?" cried out Bart irrepressibly. "I'm sorry, Stirling," said the watchman, "but--look there!" Bart could not restrain a sharp cry of concern. The express office door stood open, and the padlock and staples, torn from place, lay on the platform. He rushed into the building. Then his dismay was complete. "The trunk!" he cried--"it's gone!" "Yes, it is!" groaned McCarthy, pressing at his heels. Bart cast a reproachful look at the watchman. The lantern, too, had disappeared. He sank to the bench, overcome. Finally he inquired faintly: "How did it happen?" "I only know what happened to me," responded the watchman. "I was drugged." "When--where--by whom?" "It's guesswork, that, but the fact stands--I was dosed. You asked me to watch, and I did watch. Up to midnight that lantern on top of the trunk wasn't out of my sight fifteen minutes at a time." "And then?" questioned Bart. "I always go over to the crossing switch shanty about twelve o'clock to eat my lunch. The old switchman lends me his night key. I put my lunch in on the bench when I come on duty, and he always leaves the stove full of splinters to warm up the coffee quick. When I let myself in at midnight, the lantern here was right as a beacon--I particularly noticed it." "How long was it before you came out again?" "Four hours afterwards--just a little while ago." "Then you--fell asleep?" said Bart. "Yes, I did, and no blame to me. I'm no skulker, as you well know. I never did such a thing before in all my ten years of duty here. I was doped." "How do you know that?" asked Bart. "I warmed up the coffee and had my lunch," narrated the watchman. "Then I settled down for a ten minutes' comfortable smoke, as I always do. I felt sort of sickish, right away. I had noticed that the coffee tasted queer, but I fancied it might have been burned. Anyhow, half an hour ago I seemed to come out of a stupor, my head fairly splitting, and my stomach burning as though I'd taken poison. I thought of poison, somehow, and more so than ever as I reached over to see if there was any coffee left, for my throat was dry as a piece of pine board. There wasn't, but at the bottom of the pail were two or three little sticky brown dabs. I tasted the stuff. It was opium. I know, for I've used it in sickness. I stumbled out to get the air. The minute I glanced over at the express office I guessed it all out. It's a burglary, right and proper, Stirling, and the fellows who did it knew I was on the watch, got into the switch shanty, fixed the coffee and put me to sleep." Bart rapidly turned over in his mind all that the watchman had disclosed. "See here," he said promptly, "how many keys are there to the switch shanty?" "Only one that I know anything of," responded McCarthy. "There can't be many, or the old switchman wouldn't have to lend me his key."