A very short time after the capture of Skip Riley, Ted Strong was standing in the waiting room of the Union Station at St. Louis, the metropolis of Missouri, whither he had been summoned by a letter from the chief of the United States secret service.
He was waiting for Bud Morgan, who had gone to the baggage room to inquire about a trunk which had become lost on the way from Moon Valley, and which contained a number of valuable papers, including both their commissions as deputy United States marshals.
The enormous waiting room was crowded with passengers from the incoming trains, with which the numerous tracks were full from end to end.
As Ted Strong leaned over the iron railing, looking down into the lower waiting room, he was conscious that a woman had stepped to his side. Glancing up sideways, he saw that close to him was a very beautiful young girl, who wore a traveling cloak of pearl gray, and a long feather boa, which the draft had blown across his sleeve.
His glance intercepted one from her, and not wishing her to think that he was idly staring at her, he directed his gaze once more to the surging crowd below. As his eyes wandered over the throng, he saw a man look up, and make the most imperceptible gesture with his head.
He did not know the man. Turning swiftly to the young lady at his side, he caught sight of a smile and a slight uplifting of her eyebrows.
Undoubtedly a signal had passed between the two, and Ted, not wishing to be an eavesdropper, looked away again. But in the swift glance he had given the young girl—for now he saw that she was little else—he made a mental note of her. The gray eyes with the long, dark lashes, the oval face, beautiful in shape and of an ivory tint; the scarlet, curving lips, the slender, trim figure, and the strange, subtle perfume which she exhaled, one would never forget.
He also noted the appearance of the man who had signaled the girl.
The man was five feet seven inches in height; his face was well rounded, but not too fat. He had a brown, pointed beard; the eyes were pale, almost colorless; the forehead, broad and high, a fact which Ted noted when the man lifted his hat to wipe his brow. He had the air of a well-bred man of the world, and was probably a resident of New York. There was something familiar about the man that made Ted think that he had seen him before.
Ted saw Bud come through the door into the waiting room from the midway of the station, look up and wave his hand, with a frown and a shake of the head that told him his pard's quest for the missing baggage had been fruitless.
At the same time, the girl at his side seemed to bump into him, and as he turned to her she muttered an apology and hurried away. Although he followed her with his eyes a few moments, she was soon lost in the crowd.
He slipped his hands into the pockets of his jacket, and, with his back to the railing, prepared to wait until Bud reached him.
As his left hand sank into his pocket, his fingers came in contact with a piece of paper.
He knew that he had not placed the paper in his pocket, and glanced around with his usual caution to see if any one was watching him. He saw that wonderful pair of gray eyes with the dark lashes—Irish eyes, he called them—watching him over the shoulders of a man a dozen feet away in the crowd. But the moment the woman realized that she was being observed, she disappeared.
"Deuced strange," he muttered to himself, fumbling with the paper, which he had not withdrawn from his pocket. "That girl placed this paper in my pocket. I wonder why. There is something out of the way here, for the paper was not there before she stood beside me."
One less wise than Ted, and not so modest, might have thought that the girl was trying to flirt with him. But to Ted there was something more important and mysterious than that in her actions.
If he read them aright, she had placed the paper in his pocket when she apparently accidentally bumped into him, and had gone away only to come back to see if he had discovered it.
Although he searched the crowd with eager eyes, he did not see her again, and was confident that she had disappeared as soon as she had accomplished her mission, which was to convey some message to him.
Although he was somewhat curious to know what, if anything, was written on the paper, he restrained himself until he could be alone, for he did not know who might be in that crowd looking for just such a move on his part.
Just then Bud brushed his way through the crowd and came up to Ted.
"Them things ain't come yit," he said, in a tone of discontent, "an' me stranded in St. Looey with no more clean shirt than a rabbit."
"You can easily get a clean shirt," said Ted, "but it's not so easy to get a new commission. That's what's worrying me, for there is no telling how soon we may need one."
"Well, let's git out o' this mob, er I'll begin ter beller an' mill, an' if they don't git out o' my way I'll cause sech a stampede thet it'll take ther police all day ter round 'em up ag'in."
Ted said nothing to Bud about the paper he had discovered in his pocket, but picked up his valise. They then made their way to the street and rode uptown in a car, where they registered at a quiet hotel.
Ted went immediately to the room assigned to him, locked the door, and drew out the paper.
He could not conceive what it would contain, for he was far above the vanity of thinking that the young woman who had stood by his side would interest herself in him enough to write him a silly note.
"The man with the pointed beard!" thought Ted.
Of course, it was he who had caused the note to be slipped into his pocket.
But why?
Taking a chair by the window, he slowly opened the note, observing at the time that the same fragrance came from it as had filled the air while the girl stood beside him in the station.
It was a sheet of pale-blue letter paper folded three times.
In the upper left-hand corner was an embossed crest, the head of a lion rampant, and beneath it a dainty monogram, which he made out to be "O. B. N.," or any one of the combinations of those letters. He could not tell which combination was the correct one.
The writing was in a fashionable feminine hand, and written with a pencil.
It was as follows:
"T. S.: This is a friendly warning from one who dare not communicate with you personally, for reasons which you will discover and understand later on, if things turn out as we"—the word "we" had been scratched out and "I" written above it—"anticipate. Be very careful while you are in St. Louis. Do not go on the streets alone, and go armed. Your mission is known, and you will be watched by persons who will seek to get you out of the way. We—that is, I, also know of your mission, and take this means of warning you of your danger, as you have done me services in the past without knowing it. Now, the sting of this note lies in this, and don't forget it, don't get into any fights, no matter what the provocation, for I have it straight that that, is the lay to do you. If you do so, not being able to avoid it, shoot straight, and you will come out all right in the end. I will see to that part of it at the right time."A FRIEND."
"T. S.: This is a friendly warning from one who dare not communicate with you personally, for reasons which you will discover and understand later on, if things turn out as we"—the word "we" had been scratched out and "I" written above it—"anticipate. Be very careful while you are in St. Louis. Do not go on the streets alone, and go armed. Your mission is known, and you will be watched by persons who will seek to get you out of the way. We—that is, I, also know of your mission, and take this means of warning you of your danger, as you have done me services in the past without knowing it. Now, the sting of this note lies in this, and don't forget it, don't get into any fights, no matter what the provocation, for I have it straight that that, is the lay to do you. If you do so, not being able to avoid it, shoot straight, and you will come out all right in the end. I will see to that part of it at the right time.
"A FRIEND."
Ted read the letter through three times, trying to clarify it, but each time his mind became more confused over it.
What did it mean, and how could any stranger know his business when he had not told a soul about it?
Even Bud did not know why they were in St. Louis; that is, he did not know the real reason. Ostensibly, they were there to inspect the local horse market.
There was a loud rap on the door, and Ted went to it and unlocked it. Throwing the door open, he saw a stranger standing on the threshold, just about to step in.
He looked at Ted in apparent surprise, then up at the number on the door, but his eyes fell to the letter which Ted still held in his hand, and he stared at it like one fascinated.
Ted noticed this, and put the letter behind his back.
As the stranger did not speak, Ted broke the spell by saying, in a sarcastic tone:
"Well?"
"Oh, I beg your pardon," said the stranger hastily, "but isn't Mr. Fowle in? I expected him to come to the door, and was surprised to see you, don't you know."
"I don't know any Mr. Fowle," said Ted, with a smile that must have told the stranger that he was not taken in by the question.
The fellow threw a quick glance around the room, but did not retreat from his place in the doorway.
Ted was starting to shut the door, considering the incident closed, when the stranger, who was a large, powerful man, well dressed and with the air of a prosperous business man, started to enter.
"This is not Mr. Fowle's room; it is mine," said Ted, blocking the way,
"I'll just step in and wait for him," said the man. "The clerk downstairs said it was his room."
"Wait a minute," said Ted sternly. "I don't know you, and I don't know Fowle. If you have any business with me, state it from the hall."
The warning in the letter flashed through his mind.
Suddenly the man sprang upon Ted, and they fell to the floor together.
"Give me that letter, curse you!" hissed the man, "I saw you get it, and I saw it just now. Give it to me, I tell you."
Ted had managed to put the letter back into his pocket. His right arm was twisted under his body, and he could not release it.
He looked up into the face of the man, who was straddling his body, and saw a gleam of malignant hatred in his eyes.
"Let me up, you cur," said Ted.
"After I get the letter," was the reply.
"It's a private letter, and not for you. Let me up!"
Now Ted saw that the man had a knife in his hand—a long, keen knife, with a pearl hilt and a silver guard.
"If you don't give me that letter at once, you'll not get another chance, but I'll have it," snarled the man.
Ted began to struggle, but he soon saw that he could do nothing with one arm out of commission. The man was not only powerful, but heavy, and it was all Ted could do to more than wriggle his body.
"I tell you you shan't have it," said Ted.
The knife went above the man's head, and in the wielder's face was a look of the most diabolical hatred Ted had ever seen in a human countenance.
"For the last time," said the man hoarsely.
There was something about the fellow's actions that told Ted he was desperate, yet at the same time afraid of the act he was about to commit.
The knife was about to descend when Ted cried out an alarm, the first he had sounded.
He heard some one running in the hall. His assailant heard it, also, and hesitated, looking around with frightened eyes.
"Yi-yipee!" It was Bud's voice, and Ted breathed a prayer of thankfulness.
"I'll give it to you, anyhow," muttered the man, and again the knife went up in the air.
But it did not make a strike, for at that moment Bud bounded into the room, and, taking in the situation with a lightning glance, his foot flew out, and the toe of his heavy boot struck the man on top of Ted fairly in the ribs. There was a cracking sound, and with a groan the fellow dropped the knife and struggled to his feet.
Rushing at Bud, he bowled that doughty individual over like a tenpin, and dashed into the hall, along which he ran swiftly and lightly, for so large a man.
When Bud had picked himself up and run to the stairway, he could hear the fellow clattering down the stairs three flights below.
"Well, dash my hopes," said Bud, "if he didn't get clear away. He shore treated me like a leetle boy. But I reckon he's in sech a hurry because he's on his way ter a drug store fer a porious plaster fer them ribs o' hisn."
Ted had picked himself up and was rubbing his arm, which had been strained by his falling on it.
"What's this yere all erbout?" asked Bud. "I'm comin' up ter call on yer when I hears yer blat, an' I come runnin', an' what do I see? A large, pale stranger erbout ter explore yer system with er bowie. Yer mixin' in sassiety quicker'n usual, seems ter me."
Ted had picked up the knife, which had fallen beneath the bed, and was looking at it.
"I wonder where this came from," he said, turning it over in his hand.
"Wherever it came from, it's a wicked-lookin' cuss," said Bud. "But what wuz ther feller goin' ter explore yer with it fer?"
"This letter," said Ted, taking the crumpled paper from his pocket and handing it to Bud.
"Jumpin' sand hills, ther plot thickens," said Bud, when he had finished reading it. "I don't seem ter be in it at all. What's it all erbout? Ye've got my coco whirlin' shore."
"I'll tell you," said Ted, "if you'll take a seat and keep quiet until I get the thing straightened out in my own mind, for the incidents of the past hour certainly have got me going."
Bud sat down and waited patiently for Ted, who was thinking deeply.
"I didn't tell you the precise object of our visit to St. Louis," began Ted, "not because I didn't trust your ability to keep a secret, but in order to keep every one else in the dark."
"D'yer mean ter say that ye hev stalled me along ter this town ter give me a leetle airin', an' not ter sell hosses?" asked Bud indignantly.
"Not exactly. I want to sell the horses for the top price, but there was something else behind it."
"A large man astraddle o' ye with a keen an' bitin' bowie at yer throat. Yer must be hard up fer amoosement."
"Not that, either," said Ted, laughing. "I manage to get all the amusement that's coming to me."
"I'm still gropin' fer enlightenment."
"Here goes, then. For a couple of months the trains on the Union Pacific, in Nebraska and Wyoming, have been running the gantlet between bands of train robbers. If a train missed being robbed at one place, it was almost sure to get it at another, especially if it carried wealth of any description."
"But ther railroads is erbout ther biggest chumps ter stand fer all this monkeydoodle business o' train robbin' ez long ez they hev. Why don't they get inter ther exterminatin' business, an' clean up ther last o' them?"
"Too busy making money, I guess. But this time it is not the railroads who are going after them."
"Who is it, me an' you?"
"Almost. By orders of the government."
"That's more like it. I don't hev no love fer a train robber, fer all I ever come in contact with wuz a bunch o' cowardly murderers, who fight like rats when they're cornered, an' kill innercent express messengers fer amoosement er devilment. But if Uncle Sammy sez so, an' needs my help, he's got it right swift an' willin'."
"Well, he seems to need it, for just before we left Moon Valley I received a letter from the United States secret service, telling me about the robberies, of which I had heard something, but not much, as they have been kept away from the newspapers as much as possible."
"Hev there been so many of them?"
"As I tell you, they have been so numerous as to lead one to believe that there was a chain of train robbers clear across the continent, and strong and capable robbers they have proved themselves to be."
"Did they git much?"
"They have got away with a vast amount of money belonging to individuals. They seem to have had information in advance of all the big shipments of treasure leaving San Francisco and Carson City, Nevada, as well as of private shipments."
"Wise Injuns, eh?"
"I should say so. They have even been able to spot shipments of United States gold en route from the mints in Frisco and Carson to Washington, and in two instances have got away with it."
"Wow! There's where your Uncle Samuel reaches out his long arms and takes a hand in the game. How much did they get away with?"
"The chief did not say. That is not for us to know, I guess, or he doesn't think it will make any difference with us in our enthusiasm for our work of running down and capturing that gang, or gangs, as the ease may be."
"But it wouldn't do a feller no harm ter know. I'd feel a heap more skittish if I wuz runnin' after a million than if it wuz thirty cents."
"There's something in that, but we won't let it interfere with the performance of our duty."
"How does the chief put it up to us?"
"He tells the facts briefly, and says: 'Go and get the robbers.'"
"That's short an' ter ther p'int. Anything else?"
"He says that the worst bunch of train robbers in ten years has been organized, with men operating on various railroads, and that from past performances it would seem that they had inside and powerful friends who were keeping them informed as to what trains to rob. In other words, the thing seems to be a syndicate of robbers operated and directed from a central point by men of brains and resource."
"An' whar's ther central p'int?"
"St. Louis."
"Ah, I begins ter smell a mice. So yer gradooly led up ter this place, pretendin' ter sell hosses, eh?"
"No; we'll kill two birds with one stone. We'll sell the horses if we can get our price for them, and it will be an excellent cloak to hide our real purpose, which is to try to get next to the headquarters of the train robbers."
"Good idee. But how aire yer goin' ter go erbout it?"
"To tell you the truth, I haven't an idea. We will have to do our own scouting. If the chief knew, it is not likely that he would employ us to find out."
"Thet's so. Well, let's be on ther scout."
"We'll still pose as ranchers with pony stock to sell, and let folks know it. We'll go over to the stockyards right now."
"All right, but the stunt is ter keep our eyes peeled fer ther train-robber syndicate's office."
"That's it. One never can tell when he will run onto just the thing he's looking for when he least expects it."
"We're being shadowed," said Ted, a short time after they had left their hotel and were walking through the streets toward the bridge that spans the Mississippi River to East St. Louis.
"How d'yer know?" asked Bud, sending a cautious eye around.
"See that fellow with the checked suit, on the opposite side of the street?"
"Uh-huh!"
"He's on our trail. Don't give him a hint that we're on to him, and if he chases us all day he'll see that we are what we represent ourselves to be, just plain cow-punchers."
"I'm on."
The man in the checked suit got on the same trolley car with them at the bridge, and while they were walking through the stockyards they saw him frequently, not always in evidence, but always somewhere in their vicinity.
They visited the offices of the commission merchants who dealt in horseflesh, and got their prices for the sort of stock the boys had to sell, and before the day was over they had disposed of six carloads of horses for immediate delivery.
While they were talking the deal over with the purchaser, they noticed that the man in the checked suit hovered around, and Ted purposely permitted him to overhear part of the conversation about the delivery of the ponies.
Ted then sent a telegram to Kit Summers, informing him of the sale, and telling him to select the sort of horses from the herds that were wanted, and to come through with them, bringing a sufficient number of the boys with him to protect the stock and deliver it.
When the operator took the message and began to send it, Ted noticed that the man with the checked suit was leaning against the wall, apparently not paying any attention to what was going on. But Ted knew by the way he was holding his head that he was a telegraph operator also, and that he was reading the message as it went onto the wire.
"Say, Bud, we've had enough of that gentleman for one day, haven't we?"
"I shore hev."
"Then let's give him the slip."
"Easier said than done. Thet thar feller sticks like a leech ter a black eye."
"I think we can do it."
"And how?"
"See that automobile over there? In front of that office."
"I see a long, low, rakish craft painted like an Eyetalian sunset. If thet is yer means o' communication with ther other side o' ther river, oxcuse me."
"Why, what's the matter with that? That's a mighty fine car."
"I reckon it is, but walkin's good ernuf fer me."
"But you'll never walk away from that shadow."
"I'll bet I kin run erway from 'his checkers' before we're halfway ter St. Looey, even if I am a cow-puncher, an' muscle bound from straddlin' a saddle fer so many years."
"What's the use, when we can run away from him in a gasoline wagon. That machine is standing in front of the office of Truax & Wells, and they have sold a lot of cattle for us in times past. It wouldn't surprise me if the car belonged to one or the other of them, and that if we asked for a lift to the other side they would be glad to let us have it."
"All right, if you're so keen on it, tackle 'em. You'll find me game ter ride ther ole thing. I've rid everything from a goat ter a huffier, an' yer kin bet yer gold-plugged tooth I ain't goin' ter welsh fer no ole piece o' machinery."
They entered the office, and were at once greeted by an elderly man, Mr. Truax, in a warm manner. After talking over things in general, Ted said:
"That's a fine car of yours out there, Mr. Truax."
"Funny thing about that car," said the commission merchant. "That's not my car, and nobody seems to know whose car it is."
"That certainly is strange," said Ted. "How does it come to be standing out there?"
"It was this way, and it's a good story, but none of the newspaper boys have been in to-day, and so I couldn't give it out: Right back of us here is a railroad station. There's an eastbound train through here at seven-thirty every morning. She was just pulling into the station this morning as I was unlocking the office door, and I heard a chugging behind me. I looked up, and here came the car with only one man in it. He pulls up short, picks up a bag, which was very heavy, for it was all he could do to stagger along with it.
"The bell on the engine was ringing for the start when he runs through the arcade there as fast as he could with the heavy bag, and just catches the rear of the train as it comes along. He manages to hoist the bag onto the rear platform steps, and is running along trying to get on, and the train picking up speed with every revolution of the wheels. I thought sure he would be left, or killed, for he wouldn't let go, when the conductor came out on the rear platform, saw him, and jerked him aboard by the collar."
"Didn't he say anything about his machine?" asked Ted.
"Not a word. That's what I thought so strange about it. But, thinks I, some one will come for it after a while. Perhaps, thinks I, he was in such a hurry to make the train that he left home without a chauffeur, who will be along when he wakes up."
"And no one has appeared?"
"There she lays, just as he left her. When my partner came down, I spoke to him about it. He's a fan on motoring. That's his car over there; that white one. When I spoke to him about it, he went out and looked it over.
"'That car don't belong here,' says he. 'There's no number of the maker on it, and everything that would serve to identify it has been taken off. Besides, I don't think the license number is on the square.'
"That excited my curiosity, and I called up the license collector's office and asked him whose motor car No. 118 was. In a few minutes he calls me and says it belongs to Mr. Henry Inchcliffe, the banker. I gets Mr. Inchcliffe on the phone and asks him if his car is missing, and he says he can look out of the window as he is talking and see it beside the curb with his wife sitting in it. 'What is the color of your car?' says I. 'Dark green, picked in crimson. Why do you ask?' says he. I tells him that an abandoned car is standing in front of our place with his number on it. But he says he guesses not, for his number looms up like a sore thumb, hanging on the axle of his car in front of the bank, and I rings off. That's the story of the car."
"Since it belongs to no one in particular, I've a mind to borrow it, and put it in a garage over on the other side. It'll be ruined if it stays out here in the weather," said Ted.
"I don't care," said Mr. Truax. "It wasn't left in my care, and I haven't got much use for the blamed thing, anyhow. Take it along. If the owner comes and proves property, I suppose you'll give it up?"
"Sure thing. I'll telephone you the name and address of the garage where I leave it, so that if there is any inquiry for it you may direct inquirers there. But I've got a hunch that this car was thrown away, having served its purpose."
"Great Scott! that's a valuable thing to throw away."
"Yes, but the man who abandoned it probably thought it a good sacrifice."
"How is that?"
"What do you suppose was in that bag he carried?"
"Couldn't say, but it was pretty heavy."
"It would hold a good deal of paper money, wouldn't it?"
"If the bills were of big enough denomination, I should say you could pack away a million in it, for it was a powerful big sack."
"Well, suppose the man whom you saw jump out of the car and get aboard the train had stolen the car, or even if he had owned it, and had made a big haul, and it was contingent upon his getting away with the money that he abandon the car."
"That's possible. But there has been no big robbery to cover that part of the theory."
"You don't know. There may have been a big robbery, and it has not been made public. Not all robberies are reported to the public. If they were, there would be slim chance for the authorities to catch the thieves."
"Perhaps so. Say, Mr. Strong, you're a deputy United States marshal, ain't you?"
"Yes. Both Mr. Morgan and I are in the government service."
"I've been thinking over what you said about a possible robbery, and perhaps you've got it right. I believe you'd better take that car along. You might need it as evidence some day."
"That occurred to me."
"Can you run the pesky thing."
"Yes; I learned to run a motor car long ago. It is, like everything else a fellow can know, mighty useful to me in my business."
"All right, take her along."
The man in the checked suit was nowhere in sight, but as Ted started up the abandoned motor car he came running out of a doorway.
"Hi, there! Come back with that car!" he yelled, running after them in the middle of the road. But Ted let her out a couple of links, and in a moment the man in checks was out of sight.
"What aire ye goin' ter do with ther blamed thing, now yer got it?" asked Bud, as they sped across the Eads Bridge into St. Louis.
"I haven't made up my mind yet. It certainly doesn't belong in this town, and if we use it here we will have to get a local license."
"Jumpin' sand hills, yer not goin' ter run it yere?"
"Why not?"
"Whoever owns it is li'ble ter come erlong some day, an—"
"Then I'll give it to him, if he can prove it is his, but I don't think it will ever be claimed."
"How's that?"
"Because the owner is a thief, and if he finds it is in the hands of an officer he will let it go rather than face an investigation. Besides, I need it."
"Ted Strong, aire yer goin' dotty over them derned smell wagons, too?"
"No, I can't say that I am, but if I lived in a town like this, and could afford it, you bet I'd have one."
"But where aire yer goin' ter keep it? We shore can't take it up ter our room."
"Not exactly," laughed Ted. "You forget that we have friends in this man's town."
"Not a whole heap."
"What's the matter with Don Dorrington?"
"By ginger, that's so. Ther young feller what was with us down in Mexico when we found ther jewels and things under ther president's palace."
"Yes, and we're heading right for his house now."
"What fer? Goin' ter try ter git him inter trouble, too?"
Ted piloted the machine through the thronged downtown streets, and coming at last to Pine Street Boulevard, he let her out, and went skimming over the smooth pavement until he came to Newstead Avenue, and was ringing the bell of Don Dorrington's flat before the astonished Bud could recover his breath from the swift ride.
Dorrington himself came to the door, having looked through the window and seen Ted arrive.
"Well, by all that's glorious," exclaimed Don, as he grasped Ted by the hand. "Where are you from, and why? Hello, Bud, you old rascal! Get out of that car and come in. Where did you get the bubble?"
Ted and Bud entered the house and were taken into Don's workroom, where he was soon put in possession of the facts concerning the motor car, although Ted said nothing about the real object of his visit lo St. Louis.
"Well, what can I do for you?" asked Don.
"Have you a place where I can store this car for a while?" asked Ted.
"I sure have," said Don. "You can run it right into the basement from the back yard. When these flats were built it was intended that the basement be used as a garage, but so far none of the tenants have shown a disposition to get rich enough to buy one. No one will be able to get the machine out of there,"
"That's the only thing I fear," said Ted. "It's a cinch that the owner, if he is a thief who has escaped with a pot of money, as I strongly suspect, will have his pals try to get it back. And I don't want them to get it until I have used it to try to trace them."
"I'll bet a cooky ther feller with ther checked suit wuz after ther machine himself," said Bud. "When we eloped with it he came holler in' after us ter bring it back, but we gave him the glazed look an' left him fannin' ther air in our wake."
The boys rolled the motor car into the basement, which was securely locked. Then Ted and Bud returned to town on a street car.
As they got closer to the downtown section, they could hear the shouts of the newsboys announcing an "extra" newspaper in all the varieties of pronunciation of that word as it issues from the mouths of city "newsies."
"Wonder what the 'extra' is all about?" said Ted.
"Oh, same old thing, I reckon," said Bud. "'All erbout ther turribul disaster.' An' when yer buys a paper yer see in big letters at ther top, 'Man Kills,' and down below it, 'Mother-in-law!' But in little type between them yer read ther follerin', to wit, 'Cat to spite.' I've been stung by them things before."
"I'm going to buy one, anyway," laughed Ted. "I don't mind being stung for a cent."
He beckoned to a newsboy, bought a paper, and opened it.
"What's this?" he almost shouted.
Great black letters sprawled across the top of the page.
"Express Messenger Found Dead," was the first line, and below it was the confirmation of Ted's belief that a great robbery had taken place. It was "Forty Thousand Dollars Taken from the Safe."
"There's the owner of the abandoned automobile, the fellow who boarded the train with the heavy grip," said Ted to Bud, who was staring over his shoulder.
The article following the startling headlines told the circumstances of the robbery.
The train that entered the Union Station at six o'clock that morning had been robbed in some mysterious manner between a junction a short distance out of St. Louis, where the express messenger had been seen alive by a fellow messenger in another car. When the car was opened in the station, after being switched to the express track, the messenger was found lying on the floor of the car with a bullet through his head. The safe had been blown open and its contents rifled.
The express company had kept silent about the murder and robbery until late in the day, when the body of the messenger was found by a reporter in an undertaker's establishment.
As for the other details, a policeman at the Union Station said that he had noticed a man come out of the waiting room carrying a grip that seemed more than ordinarily heavy. A red motor car was waiting outside the station, and the man got into it and drove away at a fast pace. The policeman had not noticed the number on the car.
How the robber and murderer got into the express car was a mystery, as the car was locked when it was switched into the express track, and there were no marks of a violent entry on the outside of the car.
"What aire yer goin' ter do erbout it?" asked Bud. "Aire yer goin' ter turn over ther motor car an' give yer infermation ter ther police?"
"Not on your life," answered Ted. "At least, not yet. I'm going to work on it a bit myself first."
"But won't Mr. Truax tip it off?"
"I'll warn him not to."
"But how erbout ther feller in ther check suit what wuz so kind an' attentive ter us?"
"He's hiding out, now that the robbery has become public. I'm not afraid of him."
"What's ther first move?"
"Locate and identify the car."
Ted called Mr. Truax up on the telephone. The commission merchant had read about the express robbery, and had connected the man in the red car with it, but promised to say nothing about it until Ted had had an opportunity to unravel the mystery.
Ted lay awake a long time that night thinking the matter over, and in the morning awoke with a plan in his mind.
"Well, hev yer determined what ter do erbout ther red car?" asked Bud at the breakfast table. "I'm shore gittin' sore at myself fer a loafer, sittin' eround here doin' nothin' but eat an' look at ther things in ther stores what I can't buy."
"I've got a scheme that I'm going to try," answered Ted.
"What is it?"
"I'm going to run that car all over this town until I get some of the train-robbing syndicate anxious about it and to following it. Then I'm going to get on to their place of doing business and their methods."
"Wish yer luck," was Bud's cheerless comment.
Bud had been out wandering restlessly around the streets all morning, and Ted was writing letters. When he got through he thought about the missing trunk, and concluded that he would go to the Union Station to see if it had been received.
The words of warning in the note not to go on the street alone were clear in his memory; but this he took to mean at night, for in a crowded street in the daytime he could see no danger.
After he had waited an hour or more for Bud, and the yellow-haired cow-puncher had not returned, Ted decided to delay no longer, and started off at a brisk walk for the station, which was six or seven blocks distant.
His hotel being on Pine Street, he chose that for his route.
He had walked three blocks when he stopped to watch a man who was slightly in advance of him.
It was the fellow he had seen in the checked suit.
He had just come out of a saloon.
In the middle of the block he stopped to talk with another man, who looked as if he worked on the railroad, and Ted loitered in a doorway until the two separated, and the man in the checked suit continued on his way.
A block farther on Ted observed two men standing on the corner talking. A policeman stood on the opposite corner.
The two men on the corner Ted knew instantly for "plain-clothes men," as the headquarters detectives are called.
He was well aware that the police by this time were on the alert to find the express robber and murderer, and knew that every available man on the city detective force was on the watch, like a cat at a rat hole.
To capture the train robber meant a reward and promotion.
Ted stood on the corner opposite the detectives and watched proceedings.
When the man in the checked suit had gone about ten paces beyond the detectives, one of them started after him, and the other signaled the policeman in uniform to cross over.
The detective called to the man in the check suit to halt, but instead of obeying he started to run.
But he had not gone more than ten feet when he was seized by the detective, and was dragged back to the corner.
"Take him to the box, Casey," said the detective, turning his prisoner over to the policeman.
At that moment the two detectives were joined by a third, and they entered into an earnest conversation, drawn closely together and looking over their shoulders occasionally in the direction of the house into which the man in the checked suit was about to enter when arrested.
"I have stumbled right into it," said Ted to himself. "The check-suit man is the spy for the train robbers, and their headquarters are in that house. The detectives are going to raid it, and I'm in on it. This certainly is lucky."
He was glad now that he had not waited for Bud.
The three detectives moved slowly down the street, The policeman stood on the corner holding his man, waiting for the patrol wagon.
The scene was vividly impressed on Ted's mind, for it had happened so quickly, so easily, so quietly, and not at all like his own strenuous times when he had gone after desperadoes in his capacity of deputy marshal.
The detectives did not notice that they were being followed by a youth, and it is doubtful if they would have paid any attention to him if they had.
The foot of the first detective was on the lower step of the stairway leading to the door of the suspected house when suddenly a shrill whistle cut the air from the direction of the corner, and Ted turned to see the policeman strike the man in the check suit a blow with his club.
"Curse him, he's tipped us off," said the detective. "Come on, we've got to rush them now."
Quickly the three sprang up the steps, threw the door open, and entered a long hall.
"Back room," said one.
Ted was following them as closely as he could without being noticed and warned away.
He saw a big, fine-looking policeman entering by a back door.
"That's it," said one of the detectives, motioning to a door.
The policeman walked boldly to the door and threw it open.
As he did so a shot rang out, and the policeman staggered back and fell, a crimson stain covering his face.
He was dead before he struck the floor.
Without a word, the three detectives ran to the door, and within a moment or two at least fifteen shots were fired within the room.
They were so many and so close together that it sounded like a single crash. Then there was silence for a few moments, followed by a few desultory shots which seemed to pop viciously after the crash that had gone before.
It all happened so suddenly that Ted had hardly time to think, and stood rooted to the spot until he was aroused by the cry of "Help!" in a feeble voice, and, drawing his revolver, he sprang into the room.
As he did so, a shot rang out, and a ball sped close to his head.
The room was so dense with suffocating powder smoke that he could not see across it, but he had seen the dull-red flash from the muzzle of a revolver and shot in that direction.
"I'm done," he heard, followed by a deep groan.
"Get me out of here," said a man, trying to struggle to his feet, and Ted hurried to his side. It was one of the detectives, and Ted helped him to his feet and supported him to the hall.
"Let me down. I've got mine. Go in and help Dunnigan," said the wounded man. There was a spot, red and ever widening, on his breast.
Ted laid him on the floor and reëntered the room. Another shot came in his direction, and missed, although he could feel the wind of it as it passed close to his head, and he returned it with two shots, and there was silence.
The smoke had by this time cleared away somewhat, and Ted saw five men lying prone in the room.
One of the detectives lay on his face across the bed, and Ted tried to raise him up, but he was a dead weight. Ted finally got him turned over on his back, and then he saw that the detective was dead.
Kneeling on the floor with his head in his arms, which were thrown across a chair, was the third detective. He was breathing hard, and every time he moved the blood gushed from his mouth. He had been shot through the stomach.
But on the other side of the bed lay three men, apparently all of them dead.
While he was observing this there was a commotion in the hall, and a policeman rushed in, followed by a large man who wore an authoritative air.
"Oh, this is too bad; this is too bad," he kept repeating, as he went from man to man. It was Chief of Detectives Desmond. Turning to the policeman, he said:
"They've killed the boys, but the boys got the whole gang except two, 'Checkers' out there, and a man in the red automobile."