looked them over; then took a chair midway in this section of the car.
Shortly afterward, Cliff Marsland arrived and seated himself at the writing desk near the
front.
The train was coming to a stop, in a fair-sized city. This was the last stage of the run; from
here on, it was a two-hour-trip straight into Washington. The express waited a minute at the
station platform; then chugged slowly out into the yards.
Lights showed through the dusk as the train was gathering speed. Harry caught snatches of
a conversation between the two men at the rear of the car. One was pointing through the
window.
'That's the new airport -'
'Well equipped. Say—there's a plane landing -'
'Hope he isn't bringing anybody for this train -'
'Not likely. Most people transfer south from here. Looks like that fellow's going up again,
don't it?'
Harry did not catch the reply. He was interested in observing some persons who had just
entered from the passage at the front of the car. They were passengers who had come
aboard at this stop.
One was an elderly man with a cane, who looked like an old-time planter. With him was a
middle-aged lady who was dressed in black, which somewhat lessened her stout
appearance. The third was a brisk-looking fellow of about thirty-five. He had the manner of a
traveling salesman.
Cliff, looking up from a letter that he was writing, gave these arrivals an inspection. Harry
caught a slight nod; it was Cliff's signal that they had passed his observation. Harry shifted
back into his chair and leaned his elbow upon the briefcase that he had beside him.
The two men at the rear were still talking about the plane that they had seen. Harry noticed
one pointing out through the back window. Then he looked frontward again as another
person entered. This was a uniformed brakeman, a member of the train crew.
Harry began to read a newspaper. Cliff resumed his writing. Both were caught off guard by
the sudden commotion that passed through the car. A growl came from up front. Harry
stared in that direction. Two masked men had entered from the passage.
Both were uncouthly dressed. They wore bandanna handkerchiefs about their faces. They
must have come aboard and entered one of the compartments ahead of the lounge, where
they had lurked until this moment. They were flashing large revolvers.
'Put your hands up!' came the order.
ONE fellow nudged a gun into the brakeman's ribs while the other covered the rest of the
car.
The brakeman faltered. His hands went up. The gun moved away. Passengers began to
copy the brakeman's example. In a scared tone, the brakeman urged them to do so.
'Don't offer resistance,' he blurted. 'Everything will be all right. Just remain quiet -'
'Shut up, shack,' growled one of the bandits, using the hoboes' term for brakeman. 'We're
running this. Say—you look like the mug that bounced me off a freight near Chillicothe. If I
thought you was the guy -'
'Forget the shack,' broke in the other. 'Keep 'em covered, Louie, while I collect. Keep your
hands up—all of you. This gat has a hair-trigger.'
WHILE Louie covered the car, the other bandit started along the line. He passed up Cliff
Marsland until later. He snatched a purse from the lady's lap and tugged three rings from her
fingers. He whisked a wallet from the old gentleman's inside pocket. He was about to
approach the traveling man when he noticed Harry Vincent.
'Keep 'em up, mug,' he ordered. 'That briefcase of yours looks good to me. Just what I
want to load the swag. What'd I tell you, Louie? I said we'd pick up a bag on the train.'
With that the fellow jabbed his gun against Harry's chest and reached for the briefcase.
Staring across the car, Harry caught Cliff's eye. He saw that Louie had left Cliff uncovered.
Feigning fear, Cliff looked too pitiable to make trouble.
Harry gave a slight nod. Cliff caught it, and was about to give a negative sign. An attack was
too dangerous, while Harry had a gun muzzle thrust against his body. But as the collecting
bandit drew back with the briefcase, Harry acted.
With a quick move of his left hand, he caught the gun barrel and thrust it away from his body.
The bandit clutched the gun; he almost lost his balance as Harry gave a twist. The revolver
boomed. Its bullet splintered the back of a chair and flattened against the steel side of the
car.
Then the revolver clattered to the floor as Harry, rising, delivered a haymaker to the bandit's
chin. The fellow went sprawling upon his back. Harry had scored a knock-out punch.
Cliff had lost no time. He was picking his chance with the same skill that Harry had shown.
Louie was swinging to aim at Harry. Cliff came up from the writing desk and drove a left
hook to the fellow's chin. Louie's head cracked back against the metal front of the lounge
compartment. As Louie sagged, Cliff bore him to the floor.
Harry saw the action. He sprang upon the man whom he had downed and yanked away the
fellow's mask. Astonishment came with understanding. The stunned bandit was Hasker.
Harry saw Dadren's mechanic open his eyes. Grimly, Harry clutched the traitor's throat,
ready to pound his head against the floor if he offered new resistance.
Then an arm came under Harry's chin. The Shadow's agent was yanked back, struggling.
He was in the clutches of the old man with the cane. Then another fighter joined the fray. It
was the old lady, minus hat and wig. A man in disguise. Both were working with Hasker.
UP at the front, Harry caught a glimpse of Cliff Marsland struggling with the brakeman. That
fellow, too, was an impostor. He was a pretended member of the train crew—a crook who
had stepped aboard with the others.
The traveling man was springing forward to aid the fake brakeman. Four against two, these
minions of Eric Hildrow had delivered a well-timed counterthrust against the agents of The
Shadow.
The struggle would have been a short one but for the intervention of the two men from the
rear of the car. When they saw the woman's wig fall to the floor, they gained an inkling of the
game. As Hasker came to his hands and knees, reaching for his gun, the two men fell upon
him.
Hasker lost his revolver. The crook who had played the part of an old man, sprang to aid
him. He and Hasker delivered punches to the men who had intervened. Harry, wresting free
from his lone antagonist, grabbed the revolver and fired toward the front of the car.
The shot, aimed high, caused commotion there. As three men turned to draw guns on Harry,
Cliff gained a chance to bring out his automatic. Then some one landed upon Harry's back.
The Shadow's agent went to the floor.
The last impression that Harry gained were odd ones. Crooks again grappling with Cliff;
something thumping upon the roof of the car; the distant blare of the locomotive whistle far
ahead.
Then a gun barrel glanced against the side of Harry's head. Stunned, the Shadow's fighting
agent lay motionless.
Hasker, the briefcase under his arm, glared viciously as he reclaimed his revolver. With a
snarl, this aid of Eric Hildrow's prepared to kill the man who had come from Cedar Cove.
CHAPTER XII. FROM THE NIGHT
