llow,
slewed sideways and heaved it straight on to Barraclough's chest.

And Barraclough's lungs emptied like a burst balloon. Next instant he
felt himself lifted into mid air as though he were a child.

"I've a damn good mind to pitch you through the window," said the man.
"I would, too, if I didn't reckon you were mad. As it is, I guess I'll
stick you up in the luggage rack out of harm's way."

And this he did without apparent effort.

"Damn me!" he went on. "What's the game?"

"The game," replied Barraclough, "isn't played out yet."

Which was true, for in the tussle his overcoat had rolled up under his
arms, the pistol pocket was clear, and a blue black automatic flashed
dully in the man's face.

"If either of us leaves this carriage I fancy it's going to be you."

To do the man justice he betrayed more amazement than alarm. He backed
away a pace and his hand travelled upward to the communicator.

"If you touch that cable I'll put a bullet through your wrist," said
Barraclough. "Sit down and attend to me."

He obeyed, shaking his head perplexedly.

"Damn me, if I can get the strength of it."

"Then listen," said Barraclough, steadying his aim along the ash rail
of the luggage rack, "and keep your hands in your lap. I'm going to
carry my scheme through even if I have to shoot you and lots like you.
My patience has run out--understand? I've been fooled and badgered and
headed off and shot at for as long as I can stand. The boot's on the
other leg now and whoever tries to stop me or follow me or get in my
way will find all the trouble he's looking for."

"Yes, but it seems to me," said the big man plaintively, "that it's you
who's looking for trouble. Been a nice thing if that bag had caught me
on the lid. There were two fifty pound bells inside and a coil of wire
for my trapeze act."

"Your what?" said Barraclough.

"Trapeze act. Done in my tour nicely, that would."

Barraclough's eyes narrowed and he looked at the man closely.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "What's your name?"

"My real name's John Lever," he replied, "but I'm better known to the
music hall public as Madrooba, the Muscular Muscovite."

"Madrooba--the chap who lets eight men stand on his chest?"

"That's me."

"Then what in blazes were you following me for?"

"Following you?" repeated Mr. Madrooba. "Never set eyes on you before.
Run after the train 'cause I got a contract to appear in Paris tonight."

Barraclough