The Galloping Ghost | Page 7

Howe swung up to the platform of the car, then slipped quietly inside. The place seemed deserted. A double row of curtains, one on either side, flanked the narrow, dimly lighted aisle.
"Ready for the night. All the other players get on at the depot, I suppose," Howe mumbled in a low monotone.
He paused to look and listen. He had always found a sleeping car, made up for the night, a spooky affair. Dim lights, silence, long rows of curtains. And behind the curtains, what? Death? Perhaps. Men have died of heart disease in their berths. Died of a knife in the heart as well.
"Capital place for a murder."
Involuntarily he looked behind him. Had he caught the sound of light footsteps? There was no one in sight. "Boo! Who'd bother to bump off a city detective!" He laughed a low, unpleasant laugh. "We're supposed to be too dumb to do anything disturbing to criminals.
"All the same!" He straightened up with a snap.
"This is a case where we must win. We simply must! The Red Rover must be in the line-up when the big day comes. And it's up to Drew and me!" Howe was a loyal son of Old Midway. Loyalty to his Alma Mater compelled him to do his best. More than that, Red Rodgers was the type he admired, a silent worker.
"He works," Drew Lane had said once, with a note of admiration in his voice. "He's like you, Howe. He digs in and says never a word."
"Digs in," Howe muttered. "That's what we must do; dig in hard."
With that he went gliding down the aisle to pause before Section Nine.
"Ah he breathed as he parted the curtains.
"Seems I am in time. Nothing disturbed."
His keen, hawk-like eyes took in all at a glance. The hammock, where clothing was deposited for the night, was gone.
"Just yanked it down and took it, clothes and all. You might think from that Red had something they wanted in his clothes. Guess not, though."
His eyes wandered from corner to corner of the narrow space. "Covers gone. Wrapped him in them and tied him up. Need to do that. Scrapper, Red is. Take six of those soft, beer soaked bums to hold him if he had an even break You --"
He broke off to stare at the center of the lower sheet which still remained on the bed. At its very center was a deep dent.
"Stepped there," he told himself , "one of 'em."
Switching on his flashlight, he examined the sheet in minute detail.
"Not a mark," he muttered. "Take it along all the same."
"You all goin' t' take that sheet?" The porter was at his elbow.
"Sure am." Howe showed his star.
"All right, Mister Police. Ah cain't stop you. But t'ain't no sort of use. Ain't no marks on that sheet. I examined it particular."
"Were you here when the thing happened?" Howe's eagle eyes snapped.
"No. Oh, no, suh! Ah don't come on 'fore half a hour ago."
"But you weren't far away," Howe thought to himself. "Hiding in the linen closet, like as not. Bribed you, maybe. Wonder how much it would cost to buy a porter?"
"What's your number?" he demanded sharply.
"Three twenty-seven." The porter's wide eyes rolled. "But hones', Mister Policeman, I don' know nothin', nothin' at all! But you take that sheet, just take it right square along."
"Did you find something, Sergeant?" a fresh voice broke in.
"Just a sheet that had been stepped on." Howe looked into the frank, fearless eyes of a boy. It was Johnny Thompson. You know Johnny.
"Gee!" Howe muttered. "I'm glad to see you!" Are you in this with us?"
"All my heart and hand!" The hand Johnny gave to Howe was as hard as a rock. "This will be a night and day affair. I'm glad. That's the sort I like."
"Day and night and all the time," Howe answered. "But let's get out of here. The section is due to move, and I've finished. Drew's scouting around down by the river."
Thus, while the forces that make for evil had been whirling Red Rogers northward, the forces that make for good, like faithful watch dogs, were assembling, making ready to take up the trail, heedless of the perils that most certainly lurked beside the way.
The pair had just alighted from the car when of a sudden a startling figure appeared before them.
Rounding the end of the car it started toward them--a skeleton with bones bleached white, a white robe flowing behind it! This was the form that in the dim light of the car-yard approached them.
With an involuntary exclamation Johnny started back. Not Tom Howe. With the spring of a panther he was upon the creature. Next instant he was sprawling upon the ground. He had received such a blow on the head as put him out for the count of ten.