Argosy All-Story Weekly — "The Purple Limited" — page 23: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE PURPLE LIMITED. that might eve us a lead. Is this the mask?” J. J. D. swung 2 and held out the red mask. Lark nodded. He regarded the men through the tobacco-smoke. Their eyes were fixed on the bit of red calico, tied at the corners with common string. ‘“ Now, where is the newspaper you found under the tank?” Lark pulled out of his pocket a grease- stained copy of the Newhouse Chronicle. It had been printed three weeks before the day of the train robbery. J. J. D. passed the paper to the detectives without com- ment. ° “The matches, Larkins?” Lark extended seven burnt. matches. They were known as “parlor matches.” Each had been struck and tossed away. J. J. D. shook his head. ‘ Not much in those,”’ he said. “‘ Tramps might have left them under the tank. The grease on the newspaper may come from butter or a “ handout.” The traffic manager, a pursy man with white whiskers, snorted as he rose from his chair. ‘Where are we getting to?” he -inquired testily. ‘‘ What I want to know is—where is the train? How could a train disappear on a double-track road, with all modern appliances? . There’s been gross neglect somewhere!”’- The manager looked accus- ingly at J. J. D., Lark fingered his cap. He faced the door. “ Hold on!” said Darrah.—“ Wait, Lar- kins.”’ . Lark remained near the door. “Now, see here!” rasped the traffic manager. “ I’m expecting the president this afternoon. I’ve got to make a report to bim. ‘The eastern papers are filled with details of the robbery—if robbery it was. What am I going to tell him?” J. J. D. fell back in his chair and thrust his thumbs into the arm-holes of his vest. He crossed one leg over the other. His face flamed to the color of red pottery. His mustache bristled. “Y’d resign right now!” he exclaimed. “ But it’s up to me to clear the mystery. 589 It’s my division! I’m trying to get a line on the robbers. Haven’t I had three hun- dred track-walkers, section-hands, special deputies, and marshals scouring the road- bed and the back country between Broad River Bridge and Cotopaxi Junction? What did they find? Nothing! Those men are still hunting for the Purple Limited.” “You must have a fine division when a crack train can be wiped off the map!” said the traffic manager. The air of the office became tense. Lark expected that J. J. D., who was a big man in every way—muscles and shoulders and hands—would spring from his chair and throttle the traffic manager. Instead, J. J. D. began toying with his arm-band as he chewed away on his mus- tache. ‘“ This car-checker here,” he said finally, “ walked down the track when he saw the Purple Limited slow for the water- tank at the west end of the yard. He found the mask, picked up the paper and matches, and came in and reported his suspicions to me. “He is to be commended. He is one of the last men who saw the train. The others are the bridge-tender, the operator at Green Creek, and the fireman and en- gineer of the Limited. Shall we call them in?” The traffic manager whispered to the de- tectives. They assented. Lark opened the door ahead of the chief clerk, and left the office, He felt that J. J. D., hounded by the railroad officials, had gone out of his way to stick up for him in the matter of the water-tank’s inspection. Lark remained around the station pldt- form and watched everybody. The en- gineer and fireman stepped into J. J. D.’s -office and emerged somewhat crestfallen. They limped across the tracks. The blows they had received in defending the Purple Limited had not been softened by J. J. D.’s searching questions. To cap the matter, from Lark’s view-point, a detective, with a slouch hat far over his EYES; was trail- ing the two men. Distrust was on every hand. The east- ern directors and the insurance company | had thre ‘w.. a cordon of sleuths about New- house. No employee of the road would be COnmMiclook Conn