"You leave at your peril, widow Ismond," shouted Dorsett. "That stuff of yours is attached. We've stopped the freight car, and—"
"All aboard!" sang out the conductor.
"Hold on, stop—zounds!" yelled Dorsett at the top of his voice.
He was lifted from his feet suddenly. Some one rushing down the platform at cyclone speed had collided with him.
It was Nelson Cady. He was hatless, his hair flying in the wind, his whole appearance that of fearful excitement.
"Say, conductor," he panted out breathlessly. "Three people just got on the train—where are they? Must see Frank Newton!"
"Hi, there, Nelson," hailed Frank, waving his hand through the open coach window.
"Oh, jolly!" shouted Nelson, keeping on a run with the moving train. "See Frank!"
Nelson tugged at his pocket. He pulled out a white, fluttering sheet of paper.
"Frank, Frank," his excited tones rang out after the vanishing train—"I've got my letter at last!"
