“A whole day gone,” he told himself. “And what have we? A bed sheet taken from a sleeping car. An invisible footprint on that sheet. But whose footprint? Shall we ever know? A bullet.”
He spread out a sheet of paper to examine it afresh. “A second message from the dead,” he murmured. “At least from the Galloping Ghost. Pretty hard-fisted ghost at that. Knocks Tom down; then when he is gone, digs a bullet from some post or railway tie, and presents it for our inspection. He says here that the bullet is the one fired at Tom out there by the Red Rover’s sleeping car. ‘Find that man.’ And then—sure, find him if you can!
“But this jack-knife business,” he mused on. “The Ghost says one of the kidnapers has the whittling habit, that while waiting for Red to fall asleep he sat on a pile of ties and whittled at a soft stick. A knife blade, he says, when examined under a microscope shows some irregularities on its edge, even the sharpest of ’em. I suppose that’s right. But what of it?”
He sat for some time in a brown study from which he emerged with a start and a low exclamation:
“Something to it! What? Might be a lot! I’ll have to get Tom digging into that. He and his microscope have solved many a baffling crime.”
Once again he settled back into meditation. “Speed boat tied up far down the river. Airplane hangar nearby. Police have searched all buildings near there. No result. Looks like an airplane job. Spirited away in an airplane. What could be simpler? Wonder if the night mechanic at the airport knows anything? If he does, like as not he wouldn’t tell.
“One thing sure!” He brought his chair down with a bang. “We’ve got to get action, and get it quick!”
Seizing the evening paper he scanned its front page. GHOST GALLOPS AGAIN was sprawled across the front page. And below, RED ROVER STILL MISSING. POLICE HAVE NOTHING TO REPORT.
“Well—” Drew smiled grimly. “Hold your horses. We may report something yet.”
Again he read, in smaller type: “The public is aroused by this daring crime. A large purse is being raised as a reward for the return of the Red Rover. The Midway coach is game. He is drilling his team hard in the face of almost certain defeat.”
“Too bad!” Drew shook his head. “Probably his last great game. They say he is to retire at the close of this season. Everything was set for a glorious victory. And now this! The plans wrecked by a gang of outlaws who deserve nothing but to die horribly. And here we are doing our best, working night and day, following blind trails, getting nowhere. We—”