He had half anticipated running across Zeph Dallas somewhere about the train, but never this trio—Ike Slump, Jim Evans and the man he had known as Lord Montague. The two latter were standing in the snow. Ike was on the platform. He was asking a question of the man who had posed as a member of the English nobility:
"Be quick, Morris; what am I to do?"
Lord Montague, alias Morris, with a keen glance about him, drew a heavy coupling pin from under his coat.
"Take it," he said hastily, "and get inside that car."
"Suppose there's somebody hinders me?"
"Didn't I tell you they were all asleep?" demanded Morris. "You'll find a man near a big glass tank."
"See here," demurred Ike; "I don't want to get into any more trouble. When it comes to striking a man with that murderous weapon"
"Murderous fiddlesticks!" interrupted Morris. "You are to hurt nobody. Smash the tank, that's all—run out, join us, and it's a hundred dollars cash on the spot, and a thousand when I get my fortune."
"Here goes, then," announced Ike Slump, pushing open the door, "but what you want to go to all
