Gard entered the motor first, and, as he leaned forward, dropped from
the opposite window a fragment of twisted gold. An hour later, in the
waiting room they had traversed, a woman picked up a pigeon blood ruby,
but the grinding wheels of trains and engines had left no trace of the
trifles they had destroyed. In the yard near the private siding, a
coupling hand came upon a twisted gold watch case, so crushed that the
diamond monogram it once had boasted was unrecognizable.

"At every stop, Jim," said Gard, as he threw himself wearily into a
lounging chair in the saloon end of the car, "I want you to go out and
get me all the latest editions of the New York papers."

The negro bowed, disappeared into the cook's galley and returned with
glasses and a bottle of champagne. He poured a glass, which Gard drank
gratefully.

Gard heard Langley and Denning moving about their stateroom. The noise
of the terminal rang an iron chorus, accompanied by whistles and the
hiss of escaping steam. The private car was attached to the express, and
the return journey began. His irritated nerves would have set him
tramping pantherwise, but sheer weariness kept him in his chair.
Presently his fellow travelers joined him, but he took little or no heed
of their conversation. Once he drank again, a toast to the successful
issue of their combined efforts. He lay back, striving to control his
rising anxiety. What would the story be that would greet him from the
heavy leads of the newspapers?

"Baltimore--Baltimore--Baltimore"--the wheels seemed to pound the name
from the steel rails; the car rocked to it. By the time they reached