“Mighty heavy artificial flowers,” growled the agent.

Then the truck drove away.

The detectives laid in the freight building for some time, and the interior of the box became hot and stifling.

Fortunately the box stood as they were lying on their sides.

About noontime their troubles began again, for the freight handlers got hold of the box to send it over the river to Jersey with other freight.  The detectives were tumbled and slammed about roughly, at one moment resting on their heads, at another on their faces, then they were picked up by a hand-truck and banged upon their backs on the boat.  For a while they had a rest.

No one heard the groans of pain they uttered as they were bumped, bruised and cut, and they were carried over the river.

Here the rough handling began again until they were laden on a freight car due to go out that night.

The box now rested so that they were standing up.

It was such a painful attitude in those cramped quarters that they were in misery, for they were face to face, with their bodies bent over on account of the box being too short for the length of their bodies.

Both had made the most desperate efforts to get rid of their bonds and gags, but found it impossible to do so.

Some hours later they felt the train get in motion and knew they were on their way to Buffalo.

The time dragged very slowly.

Hour after hour passed by and the night passed and another day came.

Hunger and thirst were now added to the miseries they already endured and the strain they were under brought them to the verge of fainting.

Toward noontime the train paused at a way station to take on some freight and the box in which the detectives were packed was thrown over to make room for it.

As it struck the floor, Old King Brady struck his face forcibly against the side of the box and made his nose bleed.

He gave a deep groan and one of the freight handlers heard it.

“Good Lor’!” he exclaimed in startled tones, as he glared around.  “What’s that?  Sounded like a man’s voice.”

Another groan from the old detective attracted his attention to the packing case, and he saw a tiny stream of blood trickling out of it through one of the cracks, upon the floor.

A thrill of horror darted through the man.

He began to suspect a corpse was in the box, and visions of a dreadful murder mystery floated through his mind.

“Hey, Tom!  Hey, Bill!  Come here, quick!” he yelled at his companions.

“What’s the matter?”

“What do you want?”

“Bring a hammer here!”

“Did you bust open a box?”

“No.  But I’m going to.”

“What for?”

“I heard a man groaning in that—­ha!  Hear it?”

A third groan from Old King Brady reached their ears and seeing the blood, they quickly realized that there was some one in the case.