"Make a sound, and you are a dead man."

The messenger, seeing all was lost, lay passive upon the floor. The
robber, whipping out a long, strong, silk handkerchief, tied his hands
behind his back, and making a double-knotted gag of Fotheringham's
handkerchief, gagged him. Searching the car he discovered a shawl-strap
with which he tied the messenger's feet, and thus had him powerless as a
log. Then, and not till then, did he speak aloud.

"Done, and well done, too."

The flush faded from his face, his eye became sullen, and drawing the
messenger's chair to him he sat down. As he gazed at his discomfited
prisoner an expression of intense relief came over his features. His
forged letters had proved successful, his only formidable obstacle
between himself and his anticipated booty lay stretched at his feet,
helpless and harmless. The nature of the car prevented any interruption
from the ends, as the only entrance was through the side doors, and he
had all night before him to escape.

Now for the plunder. The key to the safe was in Fotheringham's pocket.
It took but a second to secure it, and but another second to use it in
unlocking the strong-box. The messenger, unable to prevent this in any
way, looked on in intense mental agony. He saw that he would be
suspected as an accomplice. The mere fact that one man could disarm,
bind and gag him, would be used as a suspicious circumstance against
him. Although he did not know the exact sum of money in the safe he was
aware that it was of a very considerable amount, and he fairly writhed
in his agony of mind. In an instant Cummings (or, as he had been called
by the messenger, Bronson) was on his feet, revolver in hand, and again