Agent Nine and the Jewel Mystery: A Story of Thrilling Exploits of the G Men

by Graham M. Dean

  It was opened cautiously and the baggage man stuck his head out.

  "What do you want?" he demanded gruffly.

  "Let us in," cried the conductor and they stepped into the baggage car asa curtain of rain swept down off the roof of the train.

  Bob displayed his badge and then told what he needed.

  "I can't let you have my service gun," replied the baggage man, "but I'vegot a .22 target pistol I always carry along in my bag. You can have thatif it will do you any good."

  "It's pretty light. But it will be better than nothing," decided Bob asthe baggage man obtained the weapon and handed it to him.

  "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 theconductor.

  "We'll go back to the observation car and work forward," said Bob. "Theflagman is back there waiting for me."

  "I'll go with you. I want him to stay on the back end and protect us ifwe have to make a sudden stop. The track is getting soft and there's afast freight that's pounding along after us too close for comfort. Idon't want them piling into the back end of the Limited on a night likethis."

  It was late as they started back once more and most of the passengers inthe day coaches, curled into grotesque attitudes on the seats, wereasleep. In the Pullmans the solid rows of green curtains swung to and froas the train sped southward.

  Bob thought of the possibility that Joe Hamsa might be hiding in one ofthe unoccupied berths, but he knew that the train crew had made athorough search of each berth.

  Standing a lonely vigil in the observation car had done little to helpthe jumpy nerves of the flagman and he was obviously relieved when hefound that the conductor had decided to help Bob in the search of thevestibule steps.

  "Better turn down the lights in this car," advised the conductor. "All ofthe passengers on the Pullmans are in bed."

  "Nothing doing," insisted the flagman. "This is one night when I wantplenty of light in this car and I'd just as soon have plenty of companyof the right kind. I thought I heard some one moving around severaltimes."

  "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 outinto the raw bluster of the night.

  The young federal agent took the target pistol out of his coat pocket andslipped the catch off the safety while the conductor focused the beamfrom 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 nextsecond the trap door swung upward as unseen springs provided themomentum. They stared down at the empty steps and the rays of the flashlight, penetrating even beyond, showed the ends of the ties as theyprojected beyond the rain-swept ballast.

  Down went the trap door and the flagman turned to the other side of theplatform. Bob felt his heart beating harder. Actually he hardly knew whathe would do if the trap, flying upward, were to reveal the hunched figureof Joe Hamsa.

  The flagman kicked the release lever and the door sprung upward. Oncemore 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 theconductor started forward to continue the search of the vestibule steps.

  "Seems like kind of a foolish thing to do," grumbled the conductor.

  "That may be, but I'm convinced that Hamsa is still aboard this train andthe vestibule steps are the last place I can think of," retorted Bob.

  Four more traps were opened without success and they walked throughanother Pullman. Finally they came to car 43, where Tully was sleepingsoundly. Their search at one end of the car was without result and theywalked down to lower five.

  One curtain in the berth seemed to be caught and pulled back inward. Itwas this which attracted Bob's attention and made him pause. He leanedover to adjust the curtain and just then the train lurched sharply and hewas thrown into the berth.

  Bob attempted to brace himself and keep from falling on the sleepingTully, but his efforts were without avail and he dropped rather heavilyinto the berth.

  Bob expected Tully to cry out, but there was no answer from the otheryoung federal agent and Bob, struggling to his feet, parted the curtainsand with the conductor peering over his shoulder, looked in.

  The bedding had been thrown carelessly to the back of the berth and Tullywas missing!

  Chapter XIII GOING ON *

  Bob turned and stared at the conductor with unbelieving eyes.

  "He's gone!" said Bob mechanically.

  But it couldn't be possible for only a few minutes before he had lookedin at Tully when he had examined the contents of his bag in the searchfor a weapon. Tully had been sleeping deeply but peacefully then.

  "Maybe he walked up ahead to get a drink," suggested the conductor. Butthere was little actual hope in his voice that this had happened.

  "Get ahead and see if he's there," ordered Bob and the conductor hurriedaway.

  Bob threw back the curtains in the berth and looked for some evidence ofa struggle for he was convinced in his own mind that Tully had never leftthe berth of his own free will. For one thing Tully had been too ill toget up and do any walking on the train.

  The conductor returned promptly. There was no sign of Tully in the headend of the Pullman.

  Bob rummaged through the sheets and blankets on the bed and his handssuddenly came on something firm. He drew the object out of the beddingand gazed at it under the rays of the berth light which he had turned on.It was a leather covered blackjack.

  "This spells trouble in capital letters," said Bob as he drew out a cleanhandkerchief and turned the blackjack over. "Some one slugged Tully andthen carried him out of his berth. This train is haunted."

  "I'm beginning to believe so myself," agreed the conductor. "Who couldhave carried him away?"

  "There's only one answer to that--Hamsa," asserted Bob. "What I want toknow is what happened to Tully?"

  The conductor shook his head in glum perplexity. Events were happeningtoo swiftly for him to comprehend. First valuable papers had been stolen,then a gun, and a federal agent had disappeared from his berth. Thetrainman would welcome the end of the division and his run.

  The brakeman, coming back from the head end on his rounds, stopped in thePullman.

  "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 athis heart.

  The conductor and brakeman followed him through the car and out into thevestibule where the steady clacking of the trucks beneath the Pullmansfilled the air.

  Bob stepped across the gap into the car ahead. There was a splotch ofwater on the steel floor of the vestibule where the wind had lashed therain 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. Atfirst there appeared to be nothing unusual there, but his sharp eyesfinally caught sight of a small, dark spot. It was soft and fresh and hetouched it with his fingers.

  Bob drew his hand back where the light was better and examined the darkmarks on the tips of his fingers. From behind came an involuntary gaspfrom the brakeman.

  The dark spots on Bob's fingers were blood and the young federal
agentlooked up at the trainmen with eyes that were hard and piercing.

  "Stop this train!" he ordered. "Tully Ross has been thrown from thetrain. We've got to go back."

  The conductor was silent for a moment, staring at the dark stains onBob's fingers. Then he shook his head.

  "We can't stop and go back. There's a fast freight following right behindus and they might ram us. We'll have to run to the nearest station with anight 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 andstreams of sparks flew from the wet trucks underneath.

  "We're slowing down now for Robertson where we take on water. There's anight operator there. We can send a message back and get new orders."

  The brakeman threw open the vestibule door on the right side and almostbefore the train came to a stop Bob and the conductor were runningforward.

  When they reached the small station Bob dictated the message and theconductor told the operator to rush it through.

  "That freight's only ten miles up the line. It's at Quasqueton now. Maybewe can catch it," said the operator.

  Bob nodded and the operator pounded his key hard with a desperate callfor the night man at Quasqueton. It seemed ages before there was ananswer. Actually the Quesqueton operator answered in less than a minute.

  "Hold the freight," snapped back the operator beside Bob, and just thenthe dispatcher at division headquarters chimed in and wanted to know whatit was all about.

  The story was snapped over the wires as the bent fingers of the operatorat Robertson tapped out the facts. The answer from the dispatcher camesharply, first a message to the freight.

  "To enginemen and trainmen of extra X703 South. Use all precautions inmoving from Quasqueton to Robertson to find federal agent believed thrownfrom Southern Limited. Report immediately upon arrival at Robertson."

  That message was followed by one to the Limited to proceed. The nightoperator copied this quickly and handed the thin tissues to theconductor, who was buttoning up his coat before going back into thedesolation of that wild night.

  "Going on with us, or will you stay here and wait for the freight to comethrough and report?"

  Bob hesitated. If he remained at the lonely station he would have firsthand information if Tully was found by the freight crew. On the otherhand, he was convinced that Joe Hamsa was still aboard the SouthernLimited and that he had on his person the confidential documents on thesmuggling ring which had been stolen from Tully and Bob.

  The decision was made quickly.

  "I'm going on the Limited. What's our next stop?"

  The conductor named a junction thirty miles down the line.

  "Will the freight be in here by the time we reach the junction?" Bobasked the night operator.

  "It will at the rate the Limited is running tonight," replied theoperator. "Quasqueton is reporting the freight out right now."

  "Let's go," called the conductor.

  The trainman hurried outside and Bob banged the door after him. Thefederal agent went back to the Pullmans while the conductor ran forwardwith the orders for the engineer. A minute later the Limited hootedshrilly and once more started southward.

  Chapter XIV THE LIGHTS GO OUT *

  Back in the Pullman from which Tully had vanished Bob took off the coatwhich had protected him from the storm. He sat down opposite the berthand carefully examined the target revolver. An eerie feeling ran alonghis spine. He felt as though some one was watching him and he turned andscanned the windows of the Pullman. But that was impossible for theLimited was already running better than thirty miles an hour and no onecould possibly have clung to the side of the train.

  The conductor came back through.

  "I'm going to finish that search," declared Bob, and the trainman,without further comment, joined him.

  Working together and moving cautiously, they raised up the trap door onevery vestibule clear up to the baggage car. There was no one hidden onthe steps.

  "If there was ever anyone there, he got off at Robertson," said theconductor.

  But Bob shook his head.

  "I don't think so," he said firmly. "What would a man stop there for?It's miles from any other town, and there are no good highways nearby tomake a get-away in a car."

  "Maybe you're right, but there's no one on this train."

  Bob wasn't so sure. A crafty man such as Hamsa had shown himself to becould have moved to the shelter of one of the rear vestibules while theLimited was standing at Robertson for Bob had checked these vestibulesbefore the train stopped there.

  "I'm going to work from the front to the back," declared Bob, and theconductor looked at him suspiciously as though thinking that the strainof the night might have unbalanced Bob. But he went along withoutcomplaint when the federal agent started the hunt again.

  Car by car they inspected the train. The small dark spot they had foundin one vestibule had dried and Bob didn't dare think what might havehappened to Tully. While there was no love lost between them, Bob had nodesire to see any harm come to the other.

  As they entered the observation car, the Limited started slowing down.

  The conductor, pressing his face against one of the rain-washed panes ofglass, peered ahead.

  "Junction showing now," he said as Bob stepped in after inspecting thetrap doors on the observation platform.

  A red lantern was being swung at the junction platform and the minute theLimited drew to a halt beside the cinder platform Bob and the trainmanstarted running forward.

  A night operator, swathed in a heavy storm coat, greeted them.

  "Message from Robertson for Bob Houston," he told the conductor. "Finething to make a man deliver telegrams at this time of night."

  The conductor didn't bother to answer the operator's complaint but handedthe message to Bob, who tore open the envelope and read the brief messageinside.

  "Man you reported missing found by freight crew. Has cut on head and isbruised. Otherwise appears okay. Proceeding on to junction aboardfreight."

  Bob breathed a sigh of relief for he was honestly glad to know that noserious harm had befallen Tully.

  "Are you going on with us or will you stay here?" asked the conductor.

  Bob hesitated for only a moment.

  "I'm going on," he decided, for he knew that Tully would be placed ingood hands by the railroad people and could proceed on alone to hisassignment as soon as he felt well enough. In the meantime, Bob was stillconvinced that Joe Hamsa was somewhere aboard the Limited for he knewthat Hamsa's destination, like his own, was somewhere along the eastcoast of Florida and he felt sure that Hamsa would lose no time inattempting to reach it. In view of that, Bob felt the gangster wouldcontinue on the Limited.

  Two short, impatient blasts sounded up ahead and the Limited jerked intomotion as Bob and the conductor swung back onto the train.

  Bob had the borrowed revolver in one hand and as he swung up after theconductor one hand slipped on the wet handrail and he nearly fell. Tosave himself he grasped the railing with the other hand and dropped thegun just as the Limited rolled over a small culvert. It was impossible tostop and retrieve the gun and Bob was unarmed for a second time thatnight.

  "I guess the fellow you're hunting has disappeared for good," said theconductor as he lowered the trap in the vestibule.

  Bob, shaking the rain off his coat, nodded absent-mindedly and thetrainman went forward while Bob returned to the Pullman. A queer feelingwent through his body as he walked down the silent car. It was from thiscar that their confidential documents had disappeared and it was from thevery berth that Bob had intended occupying that Tully had vanished.

  The porter was evidently keeping as far away from the car as possible forhe failed to answer Bob's summons. However, a berth farther down the carhad been made up and Bob decided to sl
ip off his shoes and lie down thereto rest.

  With a little relaxation he might be able to think better; perhaps evento unravel all of the strange events which had taken place on the trainsince it had left Washington.

  The Limited sped southward steadily and the clicking of the trucks soonlulled Bob to sleep in spite of his efforts to keep awake.

  The young federal agent had no idea how long he had been asleep when heawoke suddenly with the breathless blackness of the car all around him.He rallied his thoughts.

  The lights in the car had been on the last he could remember, for he hadnot drawn the curtains of his berth.

  Bob sat upright in the berth and waited. The trucks were still echoingthe pace of the train and Bob thought that the porter might have snappedthe wrong switch.

  Then he heard a movement down the aisle and knew instantly that some onewas in the car.

  Could it be Hamsa? That was the first question that flashed through Bob'smind.

  The federal agent gathered his feet beneath him. There wasn't even timefor him to grope under the berth in quest of his shoes for he could hearthe stealthy approach of the intruder.

  Bob strained his eyes in an effort to detect the movement of the marauderbut the darkness of the car was too dense. He could only wait, but hefelt that he had an advantage now, for he would be able to take the otherby surprise.

  Chapter XV IN THE AISLE *