THE MAN IN LOWER TEN

By Mary Roberts Rinehart

CONTENTS

 I I GO TO PITTSBURG

 II A TORN TELEGRAM

 III ACROSS THE AISLE

 IV NUMBERS SEVEN AND NINE

 V THE WOMAN IN THE NEXT CAR

 VI THE GIRL IN BLUE

 VII A FINE GOLD CHAIN

 VIII THE SECOND SECTION

 IX THE HALCYON BREAKFAST

 X MISS WEST'S REQUEST

 XI THE NAME WAS SULLIVAN

 XII THE GOLD BAG

 XIII FADED ROSES

 XIV THE TRAP-DOOR

 XV THE CINEMATOGRAPH

 XVI THE SHADOW OF A GIRL

 XVII AT THE FARM-HOUSE AGAIN

 XVIII A NEW WORLD

 XIX AT THE TABLE NEXT

 XX THE NOTES AND A BARGAIN

 XXI MCKNIGHT'S THEORY

 XXII AT THE BOARDING-HOUSE

 XXIII A NIGHT AT THE LAURELS

 XXIV HIS WIFE'S FATHER

 XXV AT THE STATION

 XXVI ON TO RICHMOND

 XXVII THE SEA, THE SAND, THE STARS

 XXVIII ALISON'S STORY

 XXIX IN THE DINING-ROOM

 XXX FINER DETAILS

 XXXI AND ONLY ONE ARM

THE MAN IN LOWER TEN

CHAPTER I. I GO TO PITTSBURG

McKnight is gradually taking over the criminal end of the business. Inever liked it, and since the strange case of the man in lower ten, Ihave been a bit squeamish. Given a case like that, where you canbuild up a network of clues that absolutely incriminate three entirelydifferent people, only one of whom can be guilty, and your faith incircumstantial evidence dies of overcrowding. I never see a shivering, white-faced wretch in the prisoners' dock that I do not hark back withshuddering horror to the strange events on the Pullman car Ontario, between Washington and Pittsburg, on the night of September ninth, last. 

McKnight could tell the story a great deal better than I, althoughhe can not spell three consecutive words correctly. But, while he hasimagination and humor, he is lazy. 

"It didn't happen to me, anyhow, " he protested, when I put it up tohim. "And nobody cares for second-hand thrills. Besides, you want theunvarnished and ungarnished truth, and I'm no hand for that. I'm alawyer. "

So am I, although there have been times when my assumption in thatparticular has been disputed. I am unmarried, and just old enough todance with the grown-up little sisters of the girls I used to know. Iam fond of outdoors, prefer horses to the aforesaid grown-up littlesisters, am without sentiment (am crossed out and was substituted. -Ed. )and completely ruled and frequently routed by my housekeeper, an elderlywidow. 

In fact, of all the men of my acquaintance, I was probably the mostprosaic, the least adventurous, the one man in a hundred who would belikely to go without a deviation from the normal through the orderlyprocession of the seasons, summer suits to winter flannels, golf tobridge. 

So it was a queer freak of the demons of chance to perch on myunsusceptible thirty-year-old chest, tie me up with a crime, ticketme with a love affair, and start me on that sensational and not alwaysrespectable journey that ended so surprisingly less than three weekslater in the firm's private office. It had been the most remarkableperiod of my life. I would neither give it up nor live it again underany inducement, and yet all that I lost was some twenty yards off mydrive!

It was really McKnight's turn to make the next journey. I had atournament at Chevy Chase for Saturday, and a short yacht cruise plannedfor Sunday, and when a man has been grinding at statute law for a week, he needs relaxation. But McKnight begged off. It was not the first timehe had shirked that summer in order to run down to Richmond, and I wassurly about it. But this time he had a new excuse. "I wouldn't be ableto look after the business if I did go, " he said. He has a sort ofwide-eyed frankness that makes one ashamed to doubt him. "I'm always carsick crossing the mountains. It's a fact, Lollie. See-sawing over thepeaks does it. Why, crossing the Alleghany Mountains has the Gulf Streamto Bermuda beaten to a frazzle. "

So I gave him up finally and went home to pack. He came later in theevening with his machine, the Cannonball, to take me to the station, andhe brought the forged notes in the Bronson case. 

"Guard them with your life, " he warned me. "They are more preciousthan honor. Sew them in your chest protector, or wherever people keepvaluables. I never keep any. I'll not be happy until I see GentlemanAndy doing the lockstep. "

He sat down on my clean collars, found my cigarettes and struck a matchon the mahogany bed post with one movement. 

"Where's the Pirate?" he demanded. The Pirate is my housekeeper, Mrs. Klopton, a very worthy woman, so labeled--and libeled--because of aferocious pair of eyes and what McKnight called a bucaneering nose. Iquietly closed the door into the hall. 

"Keep your voice down, Richey, " I said. "She is looking for the eveningpaper to see if it is going to rain. She has my raincoat and an umbrellawaiting in the hall. "

The collars being damaged beyond repair, he left them and went to thewindow. He stood there for some time, staring at the blackness thatrepresented the wall of the house next door. 

"It's raining now, " he said over his shoulder, and closed the windowand the shutters. Something in his voice made me glance up, but he waswatching me, his hands idly in his pockets. 

"Who lives next door?" he inquired in a perfunctory tone, after a pause. I was packing my razor. 

"House is empty, " I returned absently. "If the landlord would put it insome sort of shape---"

"Did you put those notes in your pocket?" he broke in. 

"Yes. " I was impatient. "Along with my certificates of registration, baptism and vaccination. Whoever wants them will have to steal my coatto get them. "

"Well, I would move them, if I were you. Somebody in the next house wasconfoundedly anxious to see where you put them. Somebody right at thatwindow opposite. "

I scoffed at the idea, but nevertheless I moved the papers, puttingthem in my traveling-bag, well down at the bottom. McKnight watched meuneasily. 

"I have a hunch that you are going to have trouble, " he said, as Ilocked the alligator bag. "Darned if I like starting anything importanton Friday. "

"You have a congenital dislike to start anything on any old day, " Iretorted, still sore from my lost Saturday. "And if you knew the ownerof that house as I do you would know that if there was any one at thatwindow he is paying rent for the privilege. "

Mrs. Klopton rapped at the door and spoke discreetly from the hall. 

"Did Mr. McKnight bring the evening paper?" she inquired. 

"Sorry, but I didn't, Mrs. Klopton, " McKnight called. "The Cubs won, three to nothing. " He listened, grinning, as she moved away with littleirritated rustles of her black silk gown. 

I finished my packing, changed my collar and was ready to go. Then verycautiously we put out the light and opened the shutters. The windowacross was merely a deeper black in the darkness. It was closed anddirty. And yet, probably owing to Richey's suggestion, I had an uneasysensation of eyes staring across at me. The next moment we were at thedoor, poised for flight. 

"We'll have to run for it, " I said in a whisper. "She's down there witha package of some sort, sandwiches probably. And she's threatened mewith overshoes for a month. Ready now!"

I had a kaleidoscopic view of Mrs. Klopton in the lower hall, holdingout an armful of such traveling impedimenta as she deemed essential, while beside her, Euphemia, the colored housemaid, grinned over awhite-wrapped box. 

"Awfully sorry-no time-back Sunday, " I panted over my shoulder. Then thedoor closed and the car was moving away. 

McKnight bent forward and stared at the facade of the empty house nextdoor as we passed. It was black, staring, mysterious, as empty buildingsare apt to be. 

"I'd like to hold a post-mortem on that corpse of a house, " he saidthoughtfully. "By George, I've a notion to get out and take a look. "

"Somebody after the brass pipes, " I scoffed. "House has been empty for ayear. "

With one hand on the steering wheel McKnight held out the other for mycigarette case. "Perhaps, " he said; "but I don't see what she would wantwith brass pipe. "

"A woman!" I laughed outright. "You have been looking too hard at thepicture in the back of your watch, that's all. There's an experimentlike that: if you stare long enough--"

But McKnight was growing sulky: he sat looking rigidly ahead, and hedid not speak again until he brought the Cannonball to a stop at thestation. Even then it was only a perfunctory remark. He went through thegate with me, and with five minutes to spare, we lounged and smokedin the train shed. My mind had slid away from my surroundings and hadwandered to a polo pony that I couldn't afford and intended to buyanyhow. Then McKnight shook off his taciturnity. 

"For heaven's sake, don't look so martyred, " he burst out; "I knowyou've done all the traveling this summer. I know you're missing a gameto-morrow. But don't be a patient mother; confound it, I have to go toRichmond on Sunday. I--I want to see a girl. "

"Oh, don't mind me, " I observed politely. "Personally, I wouldn't changeplaces with you. What's her name--North? South?"

"West, " he snapped. "Don't try to be funny. And all I have to say, Blakeley, is that if you ever fall in love I hope you make an egregiousass of yourself. "

In view of what followed, this came rather close to prophecy. 

The trip west was without incident. I played bridge with a furnituredealer from Grand Rapids, a sales agent for a Pittsburg iron firm anda young professor from an eastern college. I won three rubbers out offour, finished what cigarettes McKnight had left me, and went to bedat one o'clock. It was growing cooler, and the rain had ceased. Once, toward morning, I wakened with a start, for no apparent reason, and satbolt upright. I had an uneasy feeling that some one had been looking atme, the same sensation I had experienced earlier in the evening at thewindow. But I could feel the bag with the notes, between me and thewindow, and with my arm thrown over it for security, I lapsed again intoslumber. Later, when I tried to piece together the fragments of thatjourney, I remembered that my coat, which had been folded and placedbeyond my restless tossing, had been rescued in the morning from aheterogeneous jumble of blankets, evening papers and cravat, had beenshaken out with profanity and donned with wrath. At the time, nothingoccurred to me but the necessity of writing to the Pullman Company andasking them if they ever traveled in their own cars. I even formulatedsome of the letter. 

"If they are built to scale, why not take a man of ordinary statureas your unit?" I wrote mentally. "I can not fold together like thetraveling cup with which I drink your abominable water. "

I was more cheerful after I had had a cup of coffee in the UnionStation. It was too early to attend to business, and I lounged in therestaurant and hid behind the morning papers. As I had expected, theyhad got hold of my visit and its object. On the first page was a staringannouncement that the forged papers in the Bronson case had beenbrought to Pittsburg. Underneath, a telegram from Washington stated thatLawrence Blakeley, of Blakeley and McKnight, had left for Pittsburg thenight before, and that, owing to the approaching trial of the Bronsoncase and the illness of John Gilmore, the Pittsburg millionaire, who wasthe chief witness for the prosecution, it was supposed that the visitwas intimately concerned with the trial. 

I looked around apprehensively. There were no reporters yet in sight, and thankful to have escaped notice I paid for my breakfast and left. At the cab-stand I chose the least dilapidated hansom I could find, andgiving the driver the address of the Gilmore residence, in the East end, I got in. 

I was just in time. As the cab turned and rolled off, a slim young manin a straw hat separated himself from a little group of men and hurriedtoward us. 

"Hey! Wait a minute there!" he called, breaking into a trot. 

But the cabby did not hear, or perhaps did not care to. We joggedcomfortably along, to my relief, leaving the young man far behind. Iavoid reporters on principle, having learned long ago that I am an easymark for a clever interviewer. 

It was perhaps nine o'clock when I left the station. Our way was alongthe boulevard which hugged the side of one of the city's great hills. Far below, to the left, lay the railroad tracks and the seventy timesseven looming stacks of the mills. The white mist of the river, thegrays and blacks of the smoke blended into a half-revealing haze, dottedhere and there with fire. It was unlovely, tremendous. Whistler mighthave painted it with its pathos, its majesty, but he would have missedwhat made it infinitely suggestive--the rattle and roar of iron on iron, the rumble of wheels, the throbbing beat, against the ears, of fire andheat and brawn welding prosperity. 

Something of this I voiced to the grim old millionaire who wasresponsible for at least part of it. He was propped up in bed in hisEast end home, listening to the market reports read by a nurse, and hesmiled a little at my enthusiasm. 

"I can't see much beauty in it myself, " he said. "But it's our badgeof prosperity. The full dinner pail here means a nose that looks like aflue. Pittsburg without smoke wouldn't be Pittsburg, any more than NewYork without prohibition would be New York. Sit down for a few minutes, Mr. Blakeley. Now, Miss Gardner, Westinghouse Electric. "

The nurse resumed her reading in a monotonous voice. She read literallyand without understanding, using initials and abbreviations as theycame. But the shrewd old man followed her easily. Once, however, hestopped her. 

"D-o is ditto, " he said gently, "not do. "

As the nurse droned along, I found myself looking curiously at aphotograph in a silver frame on the bed-side table. It was the pictureof a girl in white, with her hands clasped loosely before her. Againstthe dark background her figure stood out slim and young. Perhaps it wasthe rather grim environment, possibly it was my mood, but although as ageneral thing photographs of young girls make no appeal to me, this onedid. I found my eyes straying back to it. By a little finesse I evenmade out the name written across the corner, "Alison. "

Mr. Gilmore lay back among his pillows and listened to the nurse'slistless voice. But he was watching me from under his heavy eyebrows, for when the reading was over, and we were alone, he indicated thepicture with a gesture. 

"I keep it there to remind myself that I am an old man, " he said. "Thatis my granddaughter, Alison West. "

I expressed the customary polite surprise, at which, finding meresponsive, he told me his age with a chuckle of pride. More surprise, this time genuine. From that we went to what he ate for breakfastand did not eat for luncheon, and then to his reserve power, which atsixty-five becomes a matter for thought. And so, in a wide circle, backto where we started, the picture. 

"Father was a rascal, " John Gilmore said, picking up the frame. "Thehappiest day of my life was when I knew he was safely dead in bed andnot hanged. If the child had looked like him, I--well, she doesn't. She's a Gilmore, every inch. Supposed to look like me. "

"Very noticeably, " I agreed soberly. 

I had produced the notes by that time, and replacing the picture Mr. Gilmore gathered his spectacles from beside it. He went over the fournotes methodically, examining each carefully and putting it down beforehe picked up the next. Then he leaned back and took off his glasses. 

"They're not so bad, " he said thoughtfully. "Not so bad. But I never sawthem before. That's my unofficial signature. I am inclined to think--"he was speaking partly to himself--"to think that he has got hold ofa letter of mine, probably to Alison. Bronson was a friend of herrapscallion of a father. "

I took Mr. Gilmore's deposition and put it into my traveling-bag withthe forged notes. When I saw them again, almost three weeks later, theywere unrecognizable, a mass of charred paper on a copper ashtray. In theinterval other and bigger things had happened: the Bronson forgery casehad shrunk beside the greater and more imminent mystery of the man inlower ten. And Alison West had come into the story and into my life. 

CHAPTER II. A TORN TELEGRAM

I lunched alone at the Gilmore house, and went back to the city at once. The sun had lifted the mists, and a fresh summer wind had cleared awaythe smoke pall. The boulevard was full of cars flying countryward forthe Saturday half-holiday, toward golf and tennis, green fields andbabbling girls. I gritted my teeth and thought of McKnight at Richmond, visiting the lady with the geographical name. And then, for the firsttime, I associated John Gilmore's granddaughter with the "West" thatMcKnight had irritably flung at me. 

I still carried my traveling-bag, for McKnight's vision at the windowof the empty house had not been without effect. I did not transferthe notes to my pocket, and, if I had, it would not have altered thesituation later. Only the other day McKnight put this very thing up tome. 

"I warned you, " he reminded me. "I told you there were queer thingscoming, and to be on your guard. You ought to have taken your revolver. "

"It would have been of exactly as much use as a bucket of snow inAfrica, " I retorted. "If I had never closed my eyes, or if I had keptmy finger on the trigger of a six-shooter (which is novelesque forrevolver), the result would have been the same. And the next time youwant a little excitement with every variety of thrill thrown in, I canput you by way of it. You begin by getting the wrong berth in a Pullmancar, and end--"

"Oh, I know how it ends, " he finished shortly. "Don't you suppose thewhole thing's written on my spinal marrow?"

But I am wandering again. That is the difficulty with the unprofessionalstory-teller: he yaws back and forth and can't keep in the wind; hedrops his characters overboard when he hasn't any further use for themand drowns them; he forgets the coffee-pot and the frying-pan and allthe other small essentials, and, if he carries a love affair, hemutters a fervent "Allah be praised" when he lands them, drenched withadventures, at the matrimonial dock at the end of the final chapter. 

I put in a thoroughly unsatisfactory afternoon. Time dragged eternally. I dropped in at a summer vaudeville, and bought some ties at ahaberdasher's. I was bored but unexpectant; I had no premonition of whatwas to come. Nothing unusual had ever happened to me; friends of minehad sometimes sailed the high seas of adventure or skirted the coasts ofchance, but all of the shipwrecks had occurred after a woman passengerhad been taken on. "Ergo, " I had always said "no women!" I repeatedit to myself that evening almost savagely, when I found my thoughtsstraying back to the picture of John Gilmore's granddaughter. I evenargued as I ate my solitary dinner at a downtown restaurant. 

"Haven't you troubles enough, " I reflected, "without looking for more?Hasn't Bad News gone lame, with a matinee race booked for next week?Otherwise aren't you comfortable? Isn't your house in order? Do you wantto sell a pony in order to have the library done over in mission or thedrawing-room in gold? Do you want somebody to count the empty cigaretteboxes lying around every morning?"

Lay it to the long idle afternoon, to the new environment, to anythingyou like, but I began to think that perhaps I did. I was confoundedlylonely. For the first time in my life its even course began to waver:the needle registered warning marks on the matrimonial seismograph, lines vague enough, but lines. 

My alligator bag lay at my feet, still locked. While I waited for mycoffee I leaned back and surveyed the people incuriously. There were theusual couples intent on each other: my new state of mind made me regardthem with tolerance. But at the next table, where a man and woman dinedtogether, a different atmosphere prevailed. My attention was firstcaught by the woman's face. She had been speaking earnestly across thetable, her profile turned to me. I had noticed casually her earnestmanner, her somber clothes, and the great mass of odd, bronze-coloredhair on her neck. But suddenly she glanced toward me and the utterhopelessness--almost tragedy--of her expression struck me with a shock. She half closed her eyes and drew a long breath, then she turned againto the man across the table. 

Neither one was eating. He sat low in his chair, his chin on his chest, ugly folds of thick flesh protruding over his collar. He was probablyfifty, bald, grotesque, sullen, and yet not without a suggestion ofpower. But he had been drinking; as I looked, he raised an unsteady handand summoned a waiter with a wine list. 

The young woman bent across the table and spoke again quickly. She hadunconsciously raised her voice. Not beautiful, in her earnestness andstress she rather interested me. I had an idle inclination to advise thewaiter to remove the bottled temptation from the table. I wonderwhat would have happened if I had? Suppose Harrington had not beenintoxicated when he entered the Pullman car Ontario that night!

For they were about to make a journey, I gathered, and the young womanwished to go alone. I drank three cups of coffee, which accounted formy wakefulness later, and shamelessly watched the tableau before me. The woman's protest evidently went for nothing: across the table the mangrunted monosyllabic replies and grew more and more lowering and sullen. Once, during a brief unexpected pianissimo in the music, her voice cameto me sharply:

"If I could only see him in time!" she was saying. "Oh, it's terrible!"

In spite of my interest I would have forgotten the whole incidentat once, erased it from my mind as one does the inessentials andclutterings of memory, had I not met them again, later that evening, in the Pennsylvania station. The situation between them had not visiblyaltered: the same dogged determination showed in the man's face, but theyoung woman--daughter or wife? I wondered--had drawn down her veil and Icould only suspect what white misery lay beneath. 

I bought my berth after waiting in a line of some eight or ten people. When, step by step, I had almost reached the window, a tall woman whomI had not noticed before spoke to me from my elbow. She had a ticket andmoney in her hand. 

"Will you try to get me a lower when you buy yours?" she asked. "I havetraveled for three nights in uppers. "

I consented, of course; beyond that I hardly noticed the woman. I had avague impression of height and a certain amount of stateliness, but thecrowd was pushing behind me, and some one was standing on my foot. I gottwo lowers easily, and, turning with the change and berths, held out thetickets. 

"Which will you have?" I asked. "Lower eleven or lower ten?"

"It makes no difference, " she said. "Thank you very much indeed. "

At random I gave her lower eleven, and called a porter to help herwith her luggage. I followed them leisurely to the train shed, and tenminutes more saw us under way. 

I looked into my car, but it presented the peculiarly unattractiveappearance common to sleepers. The berths were made up; the center aislewas a path between walls of dingy, breeze-repelling curtains, whilethe two seats at each end of the car were piled high with suitcases andumbrellas. The perspiring porter was trying to be six places at once:somebody has said that Pullman porters are black so they won't show thedirt, but they certainly show the heat. 

Nine-fifteen was an outrageous hour to go to bed, especially since Isleep little or not at all on the train, so I made my way to the smokerand passed the time until nearly eleven with cigarettes and a magazine. The car was very close. It was a warm night, and before turning in Istood a short time in the vestibule. The train had been stoppingat frequent intervals, and, finding the brakeman there, I asked thetrouble. 

It seemed that there was a hot-box on the next car, and that not onlywere we late, but we were delaying the second section, just behind. Iwas beginning to feel pleasantly drowsy, and the air was growing cooleras we got into the mountains. I said good night to the brakeman andwent back to my berth. To my surprise, lower ten was already occupied--asuit-case projected from beneath, a pair of shoes stood on the floor, and from behind the curtains came the heavy, unmistakable breathing ofdeep sleep. I hunted out the porter and together we investigated. 

"Are you asleep, sir?" asked the porter, leaning over deferentially. No answer forthcoming, he opened the curtains and looked in. Yes, theintruder was asleep--very much asleep--and an overwhelming odor ofwhisky proclaimed that he would probably remain asleep until morning. Iwas irritated. The car was full, and I was not disposed to take an upperin order to allow this drunken interloper to sleep comfortably in myberth. 

"You'll have to get out of this, " I said, shaking him angrily. But hemerely grunted and turned over. As he did so, I saw his features for thefirst time. It was the quarrelsome man of the restaurant. 

I was less disposed than ever to relinquish my claim, but theporter, after a little quiet investigation, offered a solution of thedifficulty. "There's no one in lower nine, " he suggested, pulling openthe curtains just across. "It's likely nine's his berth, and he's made amistake, owing to his condition. You'd better take nine, sir. "

I did, with a firm resolution that if nine's rightful owner turned uplater I should be just as unwakable as the man opposite. I undressedleisurely, making sure of the safety of the forged notes, and placing mygrip as before between myself and the window. 

Being a man of systematic habits, I arranged my clothes carefully, putting my shoes out for the porter to polish, and stowing my collar andscarf in the little hammock swung for the purpose. 

At last, with my pillows so arranged that I could see out comfortably, and with the unhygienic-looking blanket turned back--I have always adistrust of those much-used affairs--I prepared to wait gradually forsleep. 

But sleep did not visit me. The train came to frequent, grating stops, and I surmised the hot box again. I am not a nervous man, but there wassomething chilling in the thought of the second section pounding alongbehind us. Once, as I was dozing, our locomotive whistled a shrillwarning--"You keep back where you belong, " it screamed to my drowsyears, and from somewhere behind came a chastened "All-right-I-will. "

I grew more and more wide-awake. At Cresson I got up on my elbow andblinked out at the station lights. Some passengers boarded the trainthere and I heard a woman's low tones, a southern voice, rich andfull. Then quiet again. Every nerve was tense: time passed, perhaps tenminutes, possibly half an hour. Then, without the slightest warning, asthe train rounded a curve, a heavy body was thrown into my berth. Theincident, trivial as it seemed, was startling in its suddenness, foralthough my ears were painfully strained and awake, I had heard no stepoutside. The next instant the curtain hung limp again; still without asound, my disturber had slipped away into the gloom and darkness. In afrenzy of wakefulness, I sat up, drew on a pair of slippers and fumbledfor my bath-robe. 

From a berth across, probably lower ten, came that particularaggravating snore which begins lightly, delicately, faintly soprano, goes down the scale a note with every breath, and, after keeping thelistener tense with expectation, ends with an explosion that tears thevery air. I was more and more irritable: I sat on the edge of the berthand hoped the snorer would choke to death. He had considerable vitality, however; he withstood one shock after another and survived to startagain with new vigor. In desperation I found some cigarettes and onematch, piled my blankets over my grip, and drawing the curtains togetheras though the berth were still occupied, I made my way to the vestibuleof the car. 

I was not clad for dress parade. Is it because the male is so restrictedto gloom in his every-day attire that he blossoms into gaudy colors inhis pajamas and dressing-gowns? It would take a Turk to feel athome before an audience in my red and yellow bathrobe, a Christmasremembrance from Mrs. Klopton, with slippers to match. 

So, naturally, when I saw a feminine figure on the platform, my firstinstinct was to dodge. The woman, however, was quicker than I; shegave me a startled glance, wheeled and disappeared, with a flash of twobronze-colored braids, into the next car. 

Cigarette box in one hand, match in the other, I leaned against theuncertain frame of the door and gazed after her vanished figure. Themountain air flapped my bath-robe around my bare ankles, my one matchburned to the end and went out, and still I stared. For I had seenon her expressive face a haunting look that was horror, nothing less. Heaven knows, I am not psychological. Emotions have to be written largebefore I can read them. But a woman in trouble always appeals to me, andthis woman was more than that. She was in deadly fear. 

If I had not been afraid of being ridiculous, I would have followedher. But I fancied that the apparition of a man in a red and yellowbath-robe, with an unkempt thatch of hair, walking up to her andassuring her that he would protect her would probably put her intohysterics. I had done that once before, when burglars had tried to breakinto the house, and had startled the parlor maid into bed for a week. So I tried to assure myself that I had imagined the lady's distress--orcaused it, perhaps--and to dismiss her from my mind. Perhaps she wasmerely anxious about the unpleasant gentleman of the restaurant. Ithought smugly that I could have told her all about him: that he wassleeping the sleep of the just and the intoxicated in a berth thatought, by all that was fair and right, to have been mine, and that if Iwere tied to a man who snored like that I should have him anesthetizedand his soft palate put where it would never again flap like a loosesail in the wind. 

We passed Harrisburg as I stood there. It was starlight, and the greatcrests of the Alleghanies had given way to low hills. At intervals wepassed smudges of gray white, no doubt in daytime comfortable farms, which McKnight says is a good way of putting it, the farms being a lotmore comfortable than the people on them. 

I was growing drowsy: the woman with the bronze hair and the horrifiedface was fading in retrospect. It was colder, too, and I turned with ashiver to go in. As I did so a bit of paper fluttered into the air andsettled on my sleeve, like a butterfly on a gorgeous red and yellowblossom. I picked it up curiously and glanced at it. It was part of atelegram that had been torn into bits. 

There were only parts of four words on the scrap, but it left me puzzledand thoughtful. It read, "-ower ten, car seve-. "

"Lower ten, car seven, " was my berth-the one I had bought and foundpreempted. 

CHAPTER III. ACROSS THE AISLE

No solution offering itself, I went back to my berth. The snorer acrosshad apparently strangled, or turned over, and so after a time I droppedasleep, to be awakened by the morning sunlight across my face. 

I felt for my watch, yawning prodigiously. I reached under the pillowand failed to find it, but something scratched the back of my hand. I sat up irritably and nursed the wound, which was bleeding a little. Still drowsy, I felt more cautiously for what I supposed had been myscarf pin, but there was nothing there. Wide awake now, I reached formy traveling-bag, on the chance that I had put my watch in there. I haddrawn the satchel to me and had my hand on the lock before I realizedthat it was not my own!

Mine was of alligator hide. I had killed the beast in Florida, after theexpenditure of enough money to have bought a house and enough energy tohave built one. The bag I held in my hand was a black one, sealskin, Ithink. The staggering thought of what the loss of my bag meant to me putmy finger on the bell and kept it there until the porter came. 

"Did you ring, sir?" he asked, poking his head through the curtainsobsequiously. McKnight objects that nobody can poke his head through acurtain and be obsequious. But Pullman porters can and do. 

"No, " I snapped. "It rang itself. What in thunder do you mean byexchanging my valise for this one? You'll have to find it if you wakenthe entire car to do it. There are important papers in that grip. "

"Porter, " called a feminine voice from an upper berth near-by. "Porter, am I to dangle here all day?"

"Let her dangle, " I said savagely. "You find that bag of mine. "

The porter frowned. Then he looked at me with injured dignity. "Ibrought in your overcoat, sir. You carried your own valise. "

The fellow was right! In an excess of caution I had refused torelinquish my alligator bag, and had turned over my other traps to theporter. It was clear enough then. I was simply a victim of the usualsleeping-car robbery. I was in a lather of perspiration by that time:the lady down the car was still dangling and talking about it: stillnearer a feminine voice was giving quick orders in French, presumably toa maid. The porter was on his knees, looking under the berth. 

"Not there, sir, " he said, dusting his knees. He was visibly morecheerful, having been absolved of responsibility. "Reckon it was takenwhile you was wanderin' around the car last night. "

"I'll give you fifty dollars if you find it, " I said. "A hundred. Reachup my shoes and I'll--"

I stopped abruptly. My eyes were fixed in stupefied amazement on acoat that hung from a hook at the foot of my berth. From the coat theytraveled, dazed, to the soft-bosomed shirt beside it, and from there tothe collar and cravat in the net hammock across the windows. 

"A hundred!" the porter repeated, showing his teeth. But I caught him bythe arm and pointed to the foot of the berth. 

"What--what color's that coat?" I asked unsteadily. 

"Gray, sir. " His tone was one of gentle reproof. 

"And--the trousers?"

He reached over and held up one creased leg. "Gray, too, " he grinned. 

"Gray!" I could not believe even his corroboration of my own eyes. "But my clothes were blue!" The porter was amused: he dived under thecurtains and brought up a pair of shoes. "Your shoes, sir, " he said witha flourish. "Reckon you've been dreaming, sir. "

Now, there are two things I always avoid in my dress--possibly anidiosyncrasy of my bachelor existence. These tabooed articles are redneckties and tan shoes. And not only were the shoes the porter liftedfrom the floor of a gorgeous shade of yellow, but the scarf which wasrun through the turned over collar was a gaudy red. It took a fullminute for the real import of things to penetrate my dazed intelligence. Then I gave a vindictive kick at the offending ensemble. 

"They're not mine, any of them, " I snarled. "They are some otherfellow's. I'll sit here until I take root before I put them on. "

"They're nice lookin' clothes, " the porter put in, eying the red tiewith appreciation. "Ain't everybody would have left you anything. "

"Call the conductor, " I said shortly. Then a possible explanationoccurred to me. "Oh, porter--what's the number of this berth?"

"Seven, sir. If you cain't wear those shoes--"

"Seven!" In my relief I almost shouted it. "Why, then, it's simpleenough. I'm in the wrong berth, that's all. My berth is nine. Only--where the deuce is the man who belongs here?"

"Likely in nine, sir. " The darky was enjoying himself. "You and theother gentleman just got mixed in the night. That's all, sir. " It wasclear that he thought I had been drinking. 

I drew a long breath. Of course, that was the explanation. This wasnumber seven's berth, that was his soft hat, this his umbrella, hiscoat, his bag. My rage turned to irritation at myself. 

The porter went to the next berth and I could hear his softlyinsinuating voice. "Time to get up, sir. Are you awake? Time to get up. "

There was no response from number nine. I guessed that he had opened thecurtains and was looking in. Then he came back. 

"Number nine's empty, " he said. 

"Empty! Do you mean my clothes aren't there?" I demanded. "My valise?Why don't you answer me?"

"You doan' give me time, " he retorted. "There ain't nothin' there. Butit's been slept in. "

The disappointment was the greater for my few moments of hope. I satup in a white fury and put on the clothes that had been left me. Then, still raging, I sat on the edge of the berth and put on the obnoxioustan shoes. The porter, called to his duties, made little excursions backto me, to offer assistance and to chuckle at my discomfiture. He stoodby, outwardly decorous, but with little irritating grins of amusementaround his mouth, when I finally emerged with the red tie in my hand. 

"Bet the owner of those clothes didn't become them any more than youdo, " he said, as he plied the ubiquitous whisk broom. 

"When I get the owner of these clothes, " I retorted grimly, "he willneed a shroud. Where's the conductor?"

The conductor was coming, he assured me; also that there was no baganswering the description of mine on the car. I slammed my way to thedressing-room, washed, choked my fifteen and a half neck into a fifteencollar, and was back again in less than five minutes. The car, as wellas its occupants, was gradually taking on a daylight appearance. Ihobbled in, for one of the shoes was abominably tight, and found myselffacing a young woman in blue with an unforgettable face. ("Three womenalready. " McKnight says: "That's going some, even if you don't countthe Gilmore nurse. ") She stood, half-turned toward me, one hand idlydrooping, the other steadying her as she gazed out at the flyinglandscape. I had an instant impression that I had met her somewhere, under different circumstances, more cheerful ones, I thought, for thegirl's dejection now was evident. Beside her, sitting down, a small darkwoman, considerably older, was talking in a rapid undertone. The girlnodded indifferently now and then. I fancied, although I was not sure, that my appearance brought a startled look into the young woman's face. I sat down and, hands thrust deep into the other man's pockets, staredruefully at the other man's shoes. 

The stage was set. In a moment the curtain was going up on the first actof the play. And for a while we would all say our little speeches andsing our little songs, and I, the villain, would hold center stage whilethe gallery hissed. 

The porter was standing beside lower ten. He had reached in and wasknocking valiantly. But his efforts met with no response. He winked atme over his shoulder; then he unfastened the curtains and bent forward. Behind him, I saw him stiffen, heard his muttered exclamation, saw thebluish pallor that spread over his face and neck. As he retreated a stepthe interior of lower ten lay open to the day. 

The man in it was on his back, the early morning sun striking full onhis upturned face. But the light did not disturb him. A small stain ofred dyed the front of his night clothes and trailed across the sheet;his half-open eyes were fixed, without seeing, on the shining woodabove. 

I grasped the porter's shaking shoulders and stared down to where thetrain imparted to the body a grisly suggestion of motion. "Good Lord, " Igasped. "The man's been murdered!"

CHAPTER IV. NUMBERS SEVEN AND NINE

Afterwards, when I tried to recall our discovery of the body in lowerten, I found that my most vivid impression was not that made by therevelation of the opened curtain. I had an instantaneous picture of aslender blue-gowned girl who seemed to sense my words rather than hearthem, of two small hands that clutched desperately at the seat besidethem. The girl in the aisle stood, bent toward us, perplexity and alarmfighting in her face. 

With twitching hands the porter attempted to draw the curtains together. Then in a paralysis of shock, he collapsed on the edge of my berth andsat there swaying. In my excitement I shook him. 

"For Heaven's sake, keep your nerve, man, " I said bruskly. "You'll haveevery woman in the car in hysterics. And if you do, you'll wish youcould change places with the man in there. " He rolled his eyes. 

A man near, who had been reading last night's paper, dropped it quicklyand tiptoed toward us. He peered between the partly open curtains, closed them quietly and went back, ostentatiously solemn, to his seat. The very crackle with which he opened his paper added to the burstingcuriosity of the car. For the passengers knew that something was amiss:I was conscious of a sudden tension. 

With the curtains closed the porter was more himself; he wiped his lipswith a handkerchief and stood erect. 

"It's my last trip in this car, " he remarked heavily. "There's somethingwrong with that berth. Last trip the woman in it took an overdose ofsome sleeping stuff, and we found her, jes' like that, dead! And itain't more'n three months now since there was twins born in that veryspot. No, sir, it ain't natural. "

At that moment a thin man with prominent eyes and a spare grayish goateecreaked up the aisle and paused beside me. 

"Porter sick?" he inquired, taking in with a professional eye theporter's horror-struck face, my own excitement and the slightly gapingcurtains of lower ten. He reached for the darky's pulse and pulled outan old-fashioned gold watch. 

"Hm! Only fifty! What's the matter? Had a shock?" he asked shrewdly. 

"Yes, " I answered for the porter. "We've both had one. If you are adoctor, I wish you would look at the man in the berth across, lower ten. I'm afraid it's too late, but I'm not experienced in such matters. "

Together we opened the curtains, and the doctor, bending down, gave acomprehensive glance that took in the rolling head, the relaxed jaw, theugly stain on the sheet. The examination needed only a moment. Deathwas written in the clear white of the nostrils, the colorless lips, thesmoothing away of the sinister lines of the night before. With its newdignity the face was not unhandsome: the gray hair was still plentiful, the features strong and well cut. 

The doctor straightened himself and turned to me. "Dead for some time, "he said, running a professional finger over the stains. "These are dryand darkened, you see, and rigor mortis is well established. A friend ofyours?"

"I don't know him at all, " I replied. "Never saw him but once before. "

"Then you don't know if he is traveling alone?"

"No, he was not--that is, I don't know anything about him, " I correctedmyself. It was my first blunder: the doctor glanced up at me quickly andthen turned his attention again to the body. Like a flash there had cometo me the vision of the woman with the bronze hair and the tragic face, whom I had surprised in the vestibule between the cars, somewhere inthe small hours of the morning. I had acted on my first impulse--themasculine one of shielding a woman. 

The doctor had unfastened the coat of the striped pajamas and exposedthe dead man's chest. On the left side was a small punctured wound ofinsignificant size. 

"Very neatly done, " the doctor said with appreciation. "Couldn't havedone it better myself. Right through the intercostal space: no time evento grunt. "

"Isn't the heart around there somewhere?" I asked. The medical manturned toward me and smiled austerely. 

"That's where it belongs, just under that puncture, when it isn'tgadding around in a man's throat or his boots. "

I had a new respect for the doctor, for any one indeed who couldcrack even a feeble joke under such circumstances, or who could run animpersonal finger over that wound and those stains. Odd how a healthy, normal man holds the medical profession in half contemptuous regarduntil he gets sick, or an emergency like this arises, and then turnsmeekly to the man who knows the ins and outs of his mortal tenement, takes his pills or his patronage, ties to him like a rudderless ship ina gale. 

"Suicide, is it, doctor?" I asked. 

He stood erect, after drawing the bed-clothing over the face, and, taking off his glasses, he wiped them slowly. 

"No, it is not suicide, " he announced decisively. "It is murder. "

Of course, I had expected that, but the word itself brought a shiver. Iwas just a bit dizzy. Curious faces through the car were turned towardus, and I could hear the porter behind me breathing audibly. A stoutwoman in negligee came down the aisle and querulously confronted theporter. She wore a pink dressing-jacket and carried portions of herclothing. 

"Porter, " she began, in the voice of the lady who had "dangled, " "isthere a rule of this company that will allow a woman to occupy thedressing-room for one hour and curl her hair with an alcohol lamp whilerespectable people haven't a place where they can hook their--"

She stopped suddenly and stared into lower ten. Her shining pink cheeksgrew pasty, her jaw fell. I remember trying to think of something tosay, and of saying nothing at all. Then--she had buried her eyes in thenondescript garments that hung from her arm and tottered back the wayshe had come. Slowly a little knot of men gathered around us, silentfor the most part. The doctor was making a search of the berth when theconductor elbowed his way through, followed by the inquisitive man, whohad evidently summoned him. I had lost sight, for a time, of the girl inblue. 

"Do it himself?" the conductor queried, after a businesslike glance atthe body. 

"No, he didn't, " the doctor asserted. "There's no weapon here, and thewindow is closed. He couldn't have thrown it out, and he didn't swallowit. What on earth are you looking for, man?"

Some one was on the floor at our feet, face down, head peering under theberth. Now he got up without apology, revealing the man who had summonedthe conductor. He was dusty, alert, cheerful, and he dragged up with himthe dead man's suit-case. The sight of it brought back to me at once myown predicament. 

"I don't know whether there's any connection or not, conductor, " I said, "but I am a victim, too, in less degree; I've been robbed of everythingI possess, except a red and yellow bath-robe. I happened to be wearingthe bath-robe, which was probably the reason the thief overlooked it. "

There was a fresh murmur in the crowd. Some body laughed nervously. Theconductor was irritated. 

"I can't bother with that now, " he snarled. "The railroad company isresponsible for transportation, not for clothes, jewelry and morals. Ifpeople want to be stabbed and robbed in the company's cars, it's theiraffair. Why didn't you sleep in your clothes? I do. "

I took an angry step forward. Then somebody touched my arm, and Iunclenched my fist. I could understand the conductor's position, andbeside, in the law, I had been guilty myself of contributory negligence. 

"I'm not trying to make you responsible, " I protested as amiably as Icould, "and I believe the clothes the thief left are as good as my own. They are certainly newer. But my valise contained valuable papers and itis to your interest as well as mine to find the man who stole it. "

"Why, of course, " the conductor said shrewdly. "Find the man whoskipped out with this gentleman's clothes, and you've probably got themurderer. "

"I went to bed in lower nine, " I said, my mind full again of my lostpapers, "and I wakened in number seven. I was up in the night prowlingaround, as I was unable to sleep, and I must have gone back to the wrongberth. Anyhow, until the porter wakened me this morning I knew nothingof my mistake. In the interval the thief--murderer, too, perhaps--musthave come back, discovered my error, and taken advantage of it tofurther his escape. "

The inquisitive man looked at me from between narrowed eyelids, ferret-like. 

"Did any one on the train suspect you of having valuable papers?" heinquired. The crowd was listening intently. 

"No one, " I answered promptly and positively. The doctor wasinvestigating the murdered man's effects. The pockets of his trouserscontained the usual miscellany of keys and small change, while in hiship pocket was found a small pearl-handled revolver of the type womenusually keep around. A gold watch with a Masonic charm had slid downbetween the mattress and the window, while a showy diamond stud wasstill fastened in the bosom of his shirt. Taken as a whole, the personalbelongings were those of a man of some means, but without any particulardegree of breeding. The doctor heaped them together. 

"Either robbery was not the motive, " he reflected, "or the thiefoverlooked these things in his hurry. "

The latter hypothesis seemed the more tenable, when, after a thoroughsearch, we found no pocketbook and less than a dollar in small change. 

The suit-case gave no clue. It contained one empty leather-covered flaskand a pint bottle, also empty, a change of linen and some collars withthe laundry mark, S. H. In the leather tag on the handle was a cardwith the name Simon Harrington, Pittsburg. The conductor sat down on myunmade berth, across, and made an entry of the name and address. Then, on an old envelope, he wrote a few words and gave it to the porter, whodisappeared. 

"I guess that's all I can do, " he said. "I've had enough trouble thistrip to last for a year. They don't need a conductor on these trains anymore; what they ought to have is a sheriff and a posse. "

The porter from the next car came in and whispered to him. The conductorrose unhappily. 

"Next car's caught the disease, " he grumbled. "Doctor, a woman backthere has got mumps or bubonic plague, or something. Will you comeback?"

The strange porter stood aside. 

"Lady about the middle of the car, " he said, "in black, sir, withqueer-looking hair--sort of copper color, I think, sir. "

CHAPTER V. THE WOMAN IN THE NEXT CAR

With the departure of the conductor and the doctor, the group aroundlower ten broke up, to re-form in smaller knots through the car. Theporter remained on guard. With something of relief I sank into a seat. I wanted to think, to try to remember the details of the previous night. But my inquisitive acquaintance had other intentions. He came up and satdown beside me. Like the conductor, he had taken notes of the dead man'sbelongings, his name, address, clothing and the general circumstances ofthe crime. Now with his little note-book open before him, he prepared toenjoy the minor sensation of the robbery. 

"And now for the second victim, " he began cheerfully. "What is your nameand address, please?" I eyed him with suspicion. 

"I have lost everything but my name and address, " I parried. "What doyou want them for? Publication?"

"Oh, no; dear, no!" he said, shocked at my misapprehension. "Merely formy own enlightenment. I like to gather data of this kind and draw myown conclusions. Most interesting and engrossing. Once or twice I haveforestalled the results of police investigation--but entirely for my ownamusement. "

I nodded tolerantly. Most of us have hobbies; I knew a man once whocarried his handkerchief up his sleeve and had a mania for old coloredprints cut out of Godey's Lady's Book. 

"I use that inductive method originated by Poe and followed since withsuch success by Conan Doyle. Have you ever read Gaboriau? Ah, you havemissed a treat, indeed. And now, to get down to business, what is thename of our escaped thief and probable murderer?"

"How on earth do I know?" I demanded impatiently. "He didn't write it inblood anywhere, did he?"

The little man looked hurt and disappointed. 

"Do you mean to say, " he asked, "that the pockets of those clothes areentirely empty?" The pockets! In the excitement I had forgotten entirelythe sealskin grip which the porter now sat at my feet, and I had notinvestigated the pockets at all. With the inquisitive man's penciltaking note of everything that I found, I emptied them on the oppositeseat. 

Upper left-hand waist-coat, two lead pencils and a fountain pen; lowerright waist-coat, match-box and a small stamp book; right-hand pocketcoat, pair of gray suede gloves, new, size seven and a half; left-handpocket, gun-metal cigarette case studded with pearls, half-full ofEgyptian cigarettes. The trousers pockets contained a gold penknife, asmall amount of money in bills and change, and a handkerchief with theinitial "S" on it. 

Further search through the coat discovered a card-case with cardsbearing the name Henry Pinckney Sullivan, and a leather flask withgold mountings, filled with what seemed to be very fair whisky, andmonogrammed H. P. S. 

"His name evidently is Henry Pinckney Sullivan, " said the cheerfulfollower of Poe, as he wrote it down. "Address as yet unknown. Blond, probably. Have you noticed that it is almost always the blond men whoaffect a very light gray, with a touch of red in the scarf? Fact, Iassure you. I kept a record once of the summer attire of men, and ninetyper cent, followed my rule. Dark men like you affect navy blue, orbrown. "

In spite of myself I was amused at the man's shrewdness. 

"Yes; the suit he took was dark--a blue, " I said. He rubbed his handsand smiled at me delightedly. "Then you wore black shoes, not tan, " hesaid, with a glance at the aggressive yellow ones I wore. 

"Right again, " I acknowledged. "Black low shoes and black embroideredhose. If you keep on you'll have a motive for the crime, and themurderer's present place of hiding. And if you come back to the smokerwith me, I'll give you an opportunity to judge if he knew good whiskyfrom bad. "

I put the articles from the pockets back again and got up. "I wonderif there is a diner on?" I said. "I need something sustaining after allthis. "

I was conscious then of some one at my elbow. I turned to see the youngwoman whose face was so vaguely familiar. In the very act of speakingshe drew back suddenly and colored. 

"Oh, --I beg your pardon, " she said hurriedly, "I--thought you were--someone else. " She was looking in a puzzled fashion at my coat. I felt allthe cringing guilt of a man who has accidentally picked up the wrongumbrella: my borrowed collar sat tight on my neck. 

"I'm sorry, " I said idiotically. "I'm sorry, but--I'm not. " I havelearned since that she has bright brown hair, with a loose wave in itthat drops over her ears, and dark blue eyes with black lashes and--butwhat does it matter? One enjoys a picture as a whole: not as the sum ofits parts. 

She saw the flask then, and her errand came back to her. "One of theladies at the end of car has fainted, " she explained. "I thought perhapsa stimulant--"

I picked up the flask at once and followed my guide down the aisle. Twoor three women were working over the woman who had fainted. They hadopened her collar and taken out her hairpins, whatever good that mightdo. The stout woman was vigorously rubbing her wrists, with the idea, no doubt, of working up her pulse! The unconscious woman was the one forwhom I had secured lower eleven at the station. 

I poured a little liquor in a bungling masculine fashion between herlips as she leaned back, with closed eyes. She choked, coughed, andrallied somewhat. 

"Poor thing, " said the stout lady. "As she lies back that way I couldalmost think it was my mother; she used to faint so much. "

"It would make anybody faint, " chimed in another. "Murder and robbery inone night and on one car. I'm thankful I always wear my rings in a bagaround my neck--even if they do get under me and keep me awake. "

The girl in blue was looking at us with wide, startled eyes. I saw herpale a little, saw the quick, apprehensive glance which she threw at hertraveling companion, the small woman I had noticed before. There was anexchange--almost a clash--of glances. The small woman frowned. That wasall. I turned my attention again to my patient. 

She had revived somewhat, and now she asked to have the window opened. The train had stopped again and the car was oppressively hot. Peoplearound were looking at their watches and grumbling over the delay. The doctor bustled in with a remark about its being his busy day. Theamateur detective and the porter together mounted guard over lower ten. Outside the heat rose in shimmering waves from the tracks: the very woodof the car was hot to touch. A Camberwell Beauty darted through the opendoor and made its way, in erratic plunges, great wings waving, down thesunny aisle. All around lay the peace of harvested fields, the quiet ofthe country. 

CHAPTER VI. THE GIRL IN BLUE

I was growing more and more irritable. The thought of what the loss ofthe notes meant was fast crowding the murder to the back of my mind. Theforced inaction was intolerable. 

The porter had reported no bag answering the description of mine on thetrain, but I was disposed to make my own investigation. I made a tourof the cars, scrutinizing every variety of hand luggage, ranging fromluxurious English bags with gold mountings to the wicker nondescripts ofthe day coach at the rear. I was not alone in my quest, for the girl inblue was just ahead of me. Car by car she preceded me through the train, unconscious that I was behind her, looking at each passenger as shepassed. I fancied the proceeding was distasteful, but that she haddetermined on a course and was carrying it through. We reached the endof the train almost together--empty-handed, both of us. 

The girl went out to the platform. When she saw me she moved aside, andI stepped out beside her. Behind us the track curved sharply; the earlysunshine threw the train, in long black shadow, over the hot earth. Forward somewhere they were hammering. The girl said nothing, but herprofile was strained and anxious. 

"I--if you have lost anything, " I began, "I wish you would let me try tohelp. Not that my own success is anything to boast of. "

She hardly glanced at me. It was not flattering. "I have notbeen robbed, if that is what you mean, " she replied quietly. "Iam--perplexed. That is all. "

There was nothing to say to that. I lifted my hat--the other fellow'shat--and turned to go back to my car. Two or three members of the traincrew, including the conductor, were standing in the shadow talking. And at that moment, from a farm-house near came the swift clang of thebreakfast bell, calling in the hands from barn and pasture. I turnedback to the girl. 

"We may be here for an hour, " I said, "and there is no buffet car on. IfI remember my youth, that bell means ham and eggs and country butter andcoffee. If you care to run the risk--"

"I am not hungry, " she said, "but perhaps a cup of coffee--dear me, Ibelieve I am hungry, " she finished. "Only--" She glanced back of her. 

"I can bring your companion, " I suggested, without enthusiasm. But theyoung woman shook her head. 

"She is not hungry, " she objected, "and she is very--well, I know shewouldn't come. Do you suppose we could make it if we run?"

"I haven't any idea, " I said cheerfully. "Any old train would be betterthan this one, if it does leave us behind. "

"Yes. Any train would be better than this one, " she repeated gravely. I found myself watching her changing expression. I had spoken two dozenwords to her and already I felt that I knew the lights and shades inher voice, --I, who had always known how a woman rode to hounds, and whonever could have told the color of her hair. 

I stepped down on the ties and turned to assist her, and together wewalked back to where the conductor and the porter from our car were inclose conversation. Instinctively my hand went to my cigarette pocketand came out empty. She saw the gesture. 

"If you want to smoke, you may, " she said. "I have a big cousin whosmokes all the time. He says I am 'kippered. '"

I drew out the gun-metal cigarette case and opened it. But this mostcommonplace action had an extraordinary result: the girl beside mestopped dead still and stood staring at it with fascinated eyes. 

"Is--where did you get that?" she demanded, with a catch in her voice;her gaze still fixed on the cigarette case. 

"Then you haven't heard the rest of the tragedy?" I asked, holding outthe case. "It's frightfully bad luck for me, but it makes a good story. You see--"

At that moment the conductor and porter ceased their colloquy. Theconductor came directly toward me, tugging as he came at his bristlinggray mustache. 

"I would like to talk to you in the car, " he said to me, with a curiousglance at the young lady. 

"Can't it wait?" I objected. "We are on our way to a cup of coffee and aslice of bacon. Be merciful, as you are powerful. "

"I'm afraid the breakfast will have to wait, " he replied. "I won't keepyou long. " There was a note of authority in his voice which I resented;but, after all, the circumstances were unusual. 

"We'll have to defer that cup of coffee for a while, " I said to thegirl; "but don't despair; there's breakfast somewhere. "

As we entered the car, she stood aside, but I felt rather than saw thatshe followed us. I was surprised to see a half dozen men gathered aroundthe berth in which I had wakened, number seven. It had not yet been madeup. 

As we passed along the aisle, I was conscious of a new expression on thefaces of the passengers. The tall woman who had fainted was searchingmy face with narrowed eyes, while the stout woman of the kindly heartavoided my gaze, and pretended to look out the window. 

As we pushed our way through the group, I fancied that it closed aroundme ominously. The conductor said nothing, but led the way withoutceremony to the side of the berth. 

"What's the matter?" I inquired. I was puzzled, but not apprehensive. "Have you some of my things? I'd be thankful even for my shoes; theseare confoundedly tight. "

Nobody spoke, and I fell silent, too. For one of the pillows had beenturned over, and the under side of the white case was streaked withbrownish stains. I think it was a perceptible time before I realizedthat the stains were blood, and that the faces around were filled withsuspicion and distrust. 

"Why, it--that looks like blood, " I said vacuously. There was anincessant pounding in my ears, and the conductor's voice came from faroff. 

"It is blood, " he asserted grimly. 

I looked around with a dizzy attempt at nonchalance. "Even if it is, "I remonstrated, "surely you don't suppose for a moment that I knowanything about it!"

The amateur detective elbowed his way in. He had a scrap of transparentpaper in his hand, and a pencil. 

"I would like permission to trace the stains, " he began eagerly. "Also"--to me--"if you will kindly jab your finger with apin--needle--anything--"

"If you don't keep out of this, " the conductor said savagely, "I willdo some jabbing myself. As for you, sir--" he turned to me. I wasabsolutely innocent, but I knew that I presented a typical picture ofguilt; I was covered with cold sweat, and the pounding in my ears keptup dizzily. "As for you, sir--"

The irrepressible amateur detective made a quick pounce at the pillowand pushed back the cover. Before our incredulous eyes he drew out anarrow steel dirk which had been buried to the small cross that servedas a head. 

There was a chorus of voices around, a quick surging forward of thecrowd. So that was what had scratched my hand! I buried the wound in mycoat pocket. 

"Well, " I said, trying to speak naturally, "doesn't that prove what Ihave been telling you? The man who committed the murder belonged to thisberth, and made an exchange in some way after the crime. How do you knowhe didn't change the tags so I would come back to this berth?" This wasan inspiration; I was pleased with it. "That's what he did, he changedthe tags, " I reiterated. 

There was a murmur of assent around. The doctor, who was standing besideme, put his hand on my arm. "If this gentleman committed this crime, andI for one feel sure he did not, then who is the fellow who got away? Andwhy did he go?"

"We have only one man's word for that, " the conductor snarled. "I'vetraveled some in these cars myself, and no one ever changed berths withme. "

Somebody on the edge of the group asserted that hereafter he wouldtravel by daylight. I glanced up and caught the eye of the girl in blue. 

"They are all mad, " she said. Her tone was low, but I heard herdistinctly. "Don't take them seriously enough to defend yourself. "

"I am glad you think I didn't do it, " I observed meekly, over the crowd. "Nothing else is of any importance. "

The conductor had pulled out his note-book again. "Your name, please, "he said gruffly. 

"Lawrence Blakeley, Washington. "

"Your occupation?"

"Attorney. A member of the firm of Blakeley and McKnight. "

"Mr. Blakeley, you say you have occupied the wrong berth and have beenrobbed. Do you know anything of the man who did it?"

"Only from what he left behind, " I answered. "These clothes--"

"They fit you, " he said with quick suspicion. "Isn't that rather acoincidence? You are a large man. "

"Good Heavens, " I retorted, stung into fury, "do I look like a man whowould wear this kind of a necktie? Do you suppose I carry purple andgreen barred silk handkerchiefs? Would any man in his senses wear a pairof shoes a full size too small?"

The conductor was inclined to hedge. "You will have to grant that Iam in a peculiar position, " he said. "I have only your word as to theexchange of berths, and you understand I am merely doing my duty. Arethere any clues in the pockets?"

For the second time I emptied them of their contents, which he noted. "Is that all?" he finished. "There was nothing else?"

"Nothing. "

"That's not all, sir, " broke in the porter, stepping forward. "There wasa small black satchel. "

"That's so, " I exclaimed. "I forgot the bag. I don't even know where itis. "

The easily swayed crowd looked suspicious again. I've grown soaccustomed to reading the faces of a jury, seeing them swing fromdoubt to belief, and back again to doubt, that I instinctively watchexpressions. I saw that my forgetfulness had done me harm--thatsuspicion was roused again. 

The bag was found a couple of seats away, under somebody'sraincoat--another dubious circumstance. Was I hiding it? It was broughtto the berth and placed beside the conductor, who opened it at once. 

It contained the usual traveling impedimenta--change of linen, collars, handkerchiefs, a bronze-green scarf, and a safety razor. But theattention of the crowd riveted itself on a flat, Russia leather wallet, around which a heavy gum band was wrapped, and which bore in giltletters the name "Simon Harrington. "

CHAPTER VII. A FINE GOLD CHAIN

The conductor held it out to me, his face sternly accusing. 

"Is this another coincidence?" he asked. "Did the man who left you hisclothes and the barred silk handkerchief and the tight shoes leave youthe spoil of the murder?"

The men standing around had drawn off a little, and I saw the absolutefutility of any remonstrance. Have you ever seen a fly, who, in thesehygienic days, finding no cobwebs to entangle him, is caught in a sheetof fly paper, finds himself more and more mired, and is finally quietwith the sticky stillness of despair?

Well, I was the fly. I had seen too much of circumstantial evidence tohave any belief that the establishing of my identity would weigh muchagainst the other incriminating details. It meant imprisonment andtrial, probably, with all the notoriety and loss of practice they wouldentail. A man thinks quickly at a time like that. All the probableconsequences of the finding of that pocket-book flashed through my mindas I extended my hand to take it. Then I drew my arm back. 

"I don't want it, " I said. "Look inside. Maybe the other man took themoney and left the wallet. "

The conductor opened it, and again there was a curious surging forwardof the crowd. To my intense disappointment the money was still there. 

I stood blankly miserable while it was counted out--fiveone-hundred-dollar bills, six twenties, and some fives and ones thatbrought the total to six hundred and fifty dollars. 

The little man with the note-book insisted on taking the numbers ofthe notes, to the conductor's annoyance. It was immaterial to me: smallthings had lost their power to irritate. I was seeing myself in theprisoner's box, going through all the nerve-racking routine of a trialfor murder--the challenging of the jury, the endless cross-examinations, the alternate hope and fear. I believe I said before that I had nonerves, but for a few minutes that morning I was as near as a man evercomes to hysteria. 

I folded my arms and gave myself a mental shake. I seemed to be thecenter of a hundred eyes, expressing every shade of doubt and distrust, but I tried not to flinch. Then some one created a diversion. 

The amateur detective was busy again with the seal-skin bag, investigating the make of the safety razor and the manufacturer's nameon the bronze-green tie. Now, however, he paused and frowned, as thoughsome pet theory had been upset. 

Then from a corner of the bag he drew out and held up for our inspectionsome three inches of fine gold chain, one end of which was blackened andstained with blood!

The conductor held out his hand for it, but the little man was not readyto give it up. He turned to me. 

"You say no watch was left you? Was there a piece of chain like that?"

"No chain at all, " I said sulkily. "No jewelry of any kind, except plaingold buttons in the shirt I am wearing. "

"Where are your glasses?" he threw at me suddenly: instinctively my handwent to my eyes. My glasses had been gone all morning, and I had noteven noticed their absence. The little man smiled cynically and held outthe chain. 

"I must ask you to examine this, " he insisted. "Isn't it a part of thefine gold chain you wear over your ear?"

I didn't want to touch the thing: the stain at the end made me shudder. But with a baker's dozen of suspicious eyes--well, we'll say fourteen:there were no one-eyed men--I took the fragment in the tips of myfingers and looked at it helplessly. 

"Very fine chains are much alike, " I managed to say. "For all I know, this may be mine, but I don't know how it got into that sealskin bag. Inever saw the bag until this morning after daylight. "

"He admits that he had the bag, " somebody said behind me. "How did youguess that he wore glasses, anyhow?" to the amateur sleuth. 

That gentleman cleared his throat. "There were two reasons, " he said, "for suspecting it. When you see a man with the lines of his facedrooping, a healthy individual with a pensive eye, --suspect astigmatism. Besides, this gentleman has a pronounced line across the bridge of hisnose and a mark on his ear from the chain. "

After this remarkable exhibition of the theoretical as combined with thepractical, he sank into a seat near-by, and still holding the chain, satwith closed eyes and pursed lips. It was evident to all the car that thesolution of the mystery was a question of moments. Once he bent forwardeagerly and putting the chain on the window-sill, proceeded to goover it with a pocket magnifying glass, only to shake his head indisappointment. All the people around shook their heads too, althoughthey had not the slightest idea what it was about. 

The pounding in my ears began again. The group around me seemed to besuddenly motionless in the very act of moving, as if a hypnotist hadcalled "Rigid!" The girl in blue was looking at me, and above the dinI thought she said she must speak to me--something vital. The poundinggrew louder and merged into a scream. With a grinding and splinteringthe car rose under my feet. Then it fell away into darkness. 

CHAPTER VIII. THE SECOND SECTION

Have you ever been picked up out of your three-meals-a-day life, whirledaround in a tornado of events, and landed in a situation so grotesqueand yet so horrible that you laugh even while you are groaning, andstraining at its hopelessness? McKnight says that is hysteria, and thatno man worthy of the name ever admits to it. 

Also, as McKnight says, it sounds like a tank drama. Just as therevolving saw is about to cut the hero into stove lengths, the secondvillain blows up the sawmill. The hero goes up through the roof andalights on the bank of a stream at the feet of his lady love, who ismaking daisy chains. 

Nevertheless, when I was safely home again, with Mrs. Klopton brewingstrange drinks that came in paper packets from the pharmacy, and thatsmelled to heaven, I remember staggering to the door and closing it, andthen going back to bed and howling out the absurdity and the madness ofthe whole thing. And while I laughed my very soul was sick, for thegirl was gone by that time, and I knew by all the loyalty that answersbetween men for honor that I would have to put her out of my mind. 

And yet, all the night that followed, filled as it was with theshrieking demons of pain, I saw her as I had seen her last, in the queerhat with green ribbons. I told the doctor this, guardedly, the nextmorning, and he said it was the morphia, and that I was lucky not tohave seen a row of devils with green tails. 

I don't know anything about the wreck of September ninth last. You whoswallowed the details with your coffee and digested the horrors withyour chop, probably know a great deal more than I do. I remember verydistinctly that the jumping and throbbing in my arm brought me back to aworld that at first was nothing but sky, a heap of clouds that I thoughthazily were the meringue on a blue charlotte russe. As the sense ofhearing was slowly added to vision, I heard a woman near me sobbing thatshe had lost her hat pin, and she couldn't keep her hat on. 

I think I dropped back into unconsciousness again, for the next thingI remember was of my blue patch of sky clouded with smoke, of a strangeroaring and crackling, of a rain of fiery sparks on my face and ofsomebody beating at me with feeble hands. I opened my eyes andclosed them again: the girl in blue was bending over me. With thatimperviousness to big things and keenness to small that is the firsteffect of shock, I tried to be facetious, when a spark stung my cheek. 

"You will have to rouse yourself!" the girl was repeating desperately. "You've been on fire twice already. " A piece of striped ticking floatedslowly over my head. As the wind caught it its charring edges leapedinto flame. 

"Looks like a kite, doesn't it?" I remarked cheerfully. And then, as myarm gave an excruciating throb--"Jove, how my arm hurts!"

The girl bent over and spoke slowly, distinctly, as one might speak to adeaf person or a child. 

"Listen, Mr. Blakeley, " she said earnestly. "You must rouse yourself. There has been a terrible accident. The second section ran into us. Thewreck is burning now, and if we don't move, we will catch fire. Do youhear?"

Her voice and my arm were bringing me to my senses. "I hear, " I said. "I--I'll sit up in a second. Are you hurt?"

"No, only bruised. Do you think you can walk?"

I drew up one foot after another, gingerly. 

"They seem to move all right, " I remarked dubiously. "Would you mindtelling me where the back of my head has gone? I can't help thinking itisn't there. "

She made a quick examination. "It's pretty badly bumped, " she said. "Youmust have fallen on it. "

I had got up on my uninjured elbow by that time, but the pain threw meback. "Don't look at the wreck, " I entreated her. "It's no sight for awoman. If--if there is any way to tie up this arm, I might be able to dosomething. There may be people under those cars!"

"Then it is too late to help, " she replied solemnly. A little shower offeathers, each carrying its fiery lamp, blew over us from some burningpillow. A part the wreck collapsed with a crash. In a resolute to playa man's part in the tragedy going on around, I got to my knees. Then Irealized what had not noticed before: the hand and wrist of the brokenleft arm were jammed through the handle of the sealskin grip. I gaspedand sat down suddenly. 

"You must not do that, " the girl insisted. I noticed now that shekept her back to the wreck, her eyes averted. "The weight of thetraveling-bag must be agony. Let me support the valise until we get backa few yards. Then you must lie down until we can get it cut off. "

"Will it have to be cut off?" I asked as calmly as possible. There werered-hot stabs of agony clear to my neck, but we were moving slowly awayfrom the track. 

"Yes, " she replied, with dumfounding coolness. "If I had a knife I coulddo it myself. You might sit here and lean against this fence. "

By that time my returning faculties had realized that she was going tocut off the satchel, not the arm. The dizziness was leaving and I wasgradually becoming myself. 

"If you pull, it might come, " I suggested. "And with that weight gone, Ithink I will cease to be five feet eleven inches of baby. "

She tried gently to loosen the handle, but it would not move, and atlast, with great drops of cold perspiration over me, I had to give up. 

"I'm afraid I can't stand it, " I said. "But there's a knife somewherearound these clothes, and if I can find it, perhaps you can cut theleather. "

As I gave her the knife she turned it over, examining it with a peculiarexpression, bewilderment rather than surprise. But she said nothing. Sheset to work deftly, and in a few minutes the bag dropped free. 

"That's better, " I declared, sitting up. "Now, if you can pin my sleeveto my coat, it will support the arm so we can get away from here. "

"The pin might give, " she objected, "and the jerk would be terrible. "She looked around, puzzled; then she got up, coming back in a minutewith a draggled, partly scorched sheet. This she tore into a largesquare, and after she had folded it, she slipped it under the broken armand tied it securely at the back of my neck. 

The relief was immediate, and, picking up the sealskin bag, I walkedslowly beside her, away from the track. 

The first act was over: the curtain fallen. The scene was "struck. "

CHAPTER IX. THE HALCYON BREAKFAST

We were still dazed, I think, for we wandered like two troubledchildren, our one idea at first to get as far away as we could from thehorror behind us. We were both bareheaded, grimy, pallid through thegrit. Now and then we met little groups of country folk hurrying to thetrack: they stared at us curiously, and some wished to question us. But we hurried past them; we had put the wreck behind us. That way laymadness. 

Only once the girl turned and looked behind her. The wreck washidden, but the smoke cloud hung heavy and dense. For the first time Iremembered that my companion had not been alone on the train. 

"It is quiet here, " I suggested. "If you will sit down on the bank Iwill go back and make some inquiries. I've been criminally thoughtless. Your traveling companion--"

She interrupted me, and something of her splendid poise was gone. "Please don't go back, " she said. "I am afraid it would be of no use. And I don't want to be left alone. "

Heaven knows I did not want her to be alone. I was more than content towalk along beside her aimlessly, for any length of time. Gradually, asshe lost the exaltation of the moment, I was gaining my normal conditionof mind. I was beginning to realize that I had lacked the morning graceof a shave, that I looked like some lost hope of yesterday, and thatmy left shoe pinched outrageously. A man does not rise triumphant abovesuch handicaps. The girl, for all her disordered hair and the crumpledlinen of her waist, in spite of her missing hat and the small gold bagthat hung forlornly from a broken chain, looked exceedingly lovely. 

"Then I won't leave you alone, " I said manfully, and we stumbled ontogether. Thus far we had seen nobody from the wreck, but well up thelane we came across the tall dark woman who had occupied lower eleven. She was half crouching beside the road, her black hair about hershoulders, and an ugly bruise over her eye. She did not seem to knowus, and refused to accompany us. We left her there at last, babblingincoherently and rolling in her hands a dozen pebbles she had gatheredin the road. 

The girl shuddered as we went on. Once she turned and glanced at mybandage. "Does it hurt very much?" she asked. 

"It's growing rather numb. But it might be worse, " I answeredmendaciously. If anything in this world could be worse, I had neverexperienced it. 

And so we trudged on bareheaded under the summer sun, growing parchedand dusty and weary, doggedly leaving behind us the pillar of smoke. I thought I knew of a trolley line somewhere in the direction wewere going, or perhaps we could find a horse and trap to take us intoBaltimore. The girl smiled when I suggested it. 

"We will create a sensation, won't we?" she asked. "Isn't it queer--orperhaps it's my state of mind--but I keep wishing for a pair of gloves, when I haven't even a hat!"

When we reached the main road we sat down for a moment, and her hair, which had been coming loose for some time, fell over her shoulders inlittle waves that were most alluring. It seemed a pity to twist itup again, but when I suggested this, cautiously, she said it wastroublesome and got in her eyes when it was loose. So she gathered itup, while I held a row of little shell combs and pins, and when it wasdone it was vastly becoming, too. Funny about hair: a man never knowshe has it until he begins to lose it, but it's different with a girl. Something of the unconventional situation began to dawn on her as sheput in the last hair-pin and patted some stray locks to place. 

"I have not told you my name, " she said abruptly. "I forgot that becauseI know who you are, you know nothing about me. I am Alison West, and myhome is in Richmond. "

So that was it! This was the girl of the photograph on John Gilmore'sbedside table. The girl McKnight expected to see in Richmond the nextday, Sunday! She was on her way back to meet him! Well, what differencedid it make, anyhow? We had been thrown together by the merest chance. In an hour or two at the most we would be back in civilization and shewould recall me, if she remembered me at all, as an unshaven creature ina red cravat and tan shoes, with a soiled Pullman sheet tied around myneck. I drew a deep breath. 

"Just a twinge, " I said, when she glanced up quickly. "It's very goodof you to let me know, Miss West. I have been hearing delightful thingsabout you for three months. "

"From Richey McKnight?" She was frankly curious. 

"Yes. From Richey McKnight, " I assented. Was it any wonder McKnight wascrazy about her? I dug my heels into the dust. 

"I have been visiting near Cresson, in the mountains, " Miss West wassaying. "The person you mentioned, Mrs. Curtis, was my hostess. We--wewere on our way to Washington together. " She spoke slowly, as if shewished to give the minimum of explanation. Across her face had comeagain the baffling expression of perplexity and trouble I had seenbefore. 

"You were on your way home, I suppose? Richey spoke about seeing you, " Ifloundered, finding it necessary to say something. She looked at me withlevel, direct eyes. 

"No, " she returned quietly. "I did not intend to go home. I--well, itdoesn't matter; I am going home now. "

A woman in a calico dress, with two children, each an exact duplicate ofthe other, had come quickly down the road. She took in the situation ata glance, and was explosively hospitable. 

"You poor things, " she said. "If you'll take the first road to the leftover there, and turn in at the second pigsty, you will find breakfast onthe table and a coffee-pot on the stove. And there's plenty of soap andwater, too. Don't say one word. There isn't a soul there to see you. "

We accepted the invitation and she hurried on toward the excitement andthe railroad. I got up carefully and helped Miss West to her feet. 

"At the second pigsty to the left, " I repeated, "we will find thebreakfast I promised you seven eternities ago. Forward to the pigsty!"

We said very little for the remainder of that walk. I had almost reachedthe limit of endurance: with every step the broken ends of the bonegrated together. We found the farm-house without difficulty, and Iremember wondering if I could hold out to the end of the old stone walkthat led between hedges to the door. 

"Allah be praised, " I said with all the voice I could muster. "Beholdthe coffee-pot!" And then I put down the grip and folded up like ajack-knife on the porch floor. 

When I came around something hot was trickling down my neck, and adespairing voice was saying, "Oh, I don't seem to be able to pour itinto your mouth. Please open your eyes. "

"But I don't want it in my eyes, " I replied dreamily. "I haven't anyidea what came over me. It was the shoes, I think: the left one is ared-hot torture. " I was sitting by that time and looking across into herface. 

Never before or since have I fainted, but I would do it joyfully, adozen times a day, if I could waken again to the blissful touch of softfingers on my face, the hot ecstasy of coffee spilled by those fingersdown my neck. There was a thrill in every tone of her voice thatmorning. Before long my loyalty to McKnight would step between me andthe girl he loved: life would develop new complexities. In those earlyhours after the wreck, full of pain as they were, there was nothingof the suspicion and distrust that came later. Shorn of our gauds andbaubles, we were primitive man and woman, together: our world for thehour was the deserted farm-house, the slope of wheat-field that led tothe road, the woodland lot, the pasture. 

We breakfasted together across the homely table. Our cheerfulness, atfirst sheer reaction, became less forced as we ate great slices of breadfrom the granny oven back of the house, and drank hot fluid that smelledlike coffee and tasted like nothing that I have ever swallowed. We foundcream in stone jars, sunk deep in the chill water of the spring house. And there were eggs, great yellow-brown ones, --a basket of them. 

So, like two children awakened from a nightmare, we chattered overour food: we hunted mutual friends, we laughed together at my feeblewitticisms, but we put the horror behind us resolutely. After all, itwas the hat with the green ribbons that brought back the strangeness ofthe situation. 

All along I had had the impression that Alison West was deliberatelyputting out of her mind something that obtruded now and then. It broughtwith it a return of the puzzled expression that I had surprised early inthe day, before the wreck. I caught it once, when, breakfast over, shewas tightening the sling that held the broken arm. I had prolonged themorning meal as much as I could, but when the wooden clock with the pinkroses on the dial pointed to half after ten, and the mother with theduplicate youngsters had not come back, Miss West made the move I haddreaded. 

"If we are to get into Baltimore at all we must start, " she said, rising. "You ought to see a doctor as soon as possible. "

"Hush, " I said warningly. "Don't mention the arm, please; it is asleepnow. You may rouse it. "

"If I only had a hat, " she reflected. "It wouldn't need to be much ofone, but--" She gave a little cry and darted to the corner. "Look, " shesaid triumphantly, "the very thing. With the green streamers tied up ina bow, like this--do you suppose the child would mind? I can put fivedollars or so here--that would buy a dozen of them. "

It was a queer affair of straw, that hat, with a round crown and a rimthat flopped dismally. With a single movement she had turned it up atone side and fitted it to her head. Grotesque by itself, when she woreit it was a thing of joy. 

Evidently the lack of head covering had troubled her, for she was elatedat her find. She left me, scrawling a note of thanks and pinning itwith a bill to the table-cloth, and ran up-stairs to the mirror and thepromised soap and water. 

I did not see her when she came down. I had discovered a bench witha tin basin outside the kitchen door, and was washing, in a helpless, one-sided way. I felt rather than saw that she was standing in thedoor-way, and I made a final plunge into the basin. 

"How is it possible for a man with only a right hand to wash his leftear?" I asked from the roller towel. I was distinctly uncomfortable: menare more rigidly creatures of convention than women, whether they admitit or not. "There is so much soap on me still that if I laugh I willblow bubbles. Washing with rain-water and home-made soap is likemotoring on a slippery road. I only struck the high places. "

Then, having achieved a brilliant polish with the towel, I looked at thegirl. 

She was leaning against the frame of the door, her face perfectlycolorless, her breath coming in slow, difficult respirations. Theerratic hat was pinned to place, but it had slid rakishly to one side. When I realized that she was staring, not at me, but past me to the roadalong which we had come, I turned and followed her gaze. There wasno one in sight: the lane stretched dust white in the sun, --no movingfigure on it, no sign of life. 

CHAPTER X. MISS WEST'S REQUEST

The surprising change in her held me speechless. All the animation ofthe breakfast table was gone: there was no hint of the response withwhich, before, she had met my nonsensical sallies. She stood there, white-lipped, unsmiling, staring down the dusty road. One hand wasclenched tight over some small object. Her eyes dropped to it from thedistant road, and then closed, with a quick, indrawn breath. Her colorcame back slowly. Whatever had caused the change, she said nothing. She was anxious to leave at once, almost impatient over my deliberatemasculine way of getting my things together. Afterward I recalled that Ihad wanted to explore the barn for a horse and some sort of a vehicle totake us to the trolley, and that she had refused to allow me to look. Iremembered many things later that might have helped me, and did not. At the time, I was only completely bewildered. Save the wreck, theresponsibility for which lay between Providence and the engineer of thesecond section, all the events of that strange morning were logicallyconnected; they came from one cause, and tended unerringly to one end. But the cause was buried, the end not yet in view. 

Not until we had left the house well behind did the girl's face relaxits tense lines. I was watching her more closely than I had realized, for when we had gone a little way along the road she turned to mealmost petulantly. "Please don't stare so at me, " she said, to my suddenconfusion. "I know the hat is dreadful. Green always makes me lookghastly. "

"Perhaps it was the green. " I was unaccountably relieved. "Do you know, a few minutes ago, you looked almost pallid to me!"

She glanced at me quickly, but I was gazing ahead. We were out ofsight of the house, now, and with every step away from it the girl wasobviously relieved. Whatever she held in her hand, she never glanced atit. But she was conscious of it every second. She seemed to come toa decision about it while we were still in sight of the gate, forshe murmured something and turned back alone, going swiftly, her feetstirring up small puffs of dust at every step. She fastened somethingto the gate-post, --I could see the nervous haste with which she worked. When she joined me again it was without explanation. But the clenchedfingers were free now, and while she looked tired and worn, the strainhad visibly relaxed. 

We walked along slowly in the general direction of the suburban trolleyline. Once a man with an empty wagon offered us a lift, but after aglance at the springless vehicle I declined. 

"The ends of the bone think they are castanets as it is, " I explained. "But the lady--"

The young lady, however, declined and we went on together. Once, whenthe trolley line was in sight, she got a pebble in her low shoe, and wesat down under a tree until she found the cause of the trouble. 

"I--I don't know what I should have done without you, " I blundered. "Moral support and--and all that. Do you know, my first consciousthought after the wreck was of relief that you had not been hurt?"

She was sitting beside me, where a big chestnut tree shaded the road, and I surprised a look of misery on her face that certainly my words hadnot been meant to produce. 

"And my first thought, " she said slowly, "was regret that I--that Ihadn't been obliterated, blown out like a candle. Please don't look likethat! I am only talking. "

But her lips were trembling, and because the little shams of society areforgotten at times like this, I leaned over and patted her hand lightly, where it rested on the grass beside me. 

"You must not say those things, " I expostulated. "Perhaps, after all, your friends--"

"I had no friends on the train. " Her voice was hard again, her tonefinal. She drew her hand from under mine, not quickly, but decisively. Acar was in sight, coming toward us. The steel finger of civilization, ofpropriety, of visiting cards and formal introductions was beckoning usin. Miss West put on her shoe. 

We said little on the car. The few passengers stared at us frankly, anddiscussed the wreck, emphasizing its horrors. The girl did not seem tohear. Once she turned to me with the quick, unexpected movement that wasone of her charms. 

"I do not wish my mother to know I was in the accident, " she said. "Willyou please not tell Richey about having met me?"

I gave my promise, of course. Again, when we were almost into Baltimore, she asked to examine the gun-metal cigarette case, and sat silent withit in her hands, while I told of the early morning's events on theOntario. 

"So you see, " I finished, "this grip, everything I have on, belongs toa fellow named Sullivan. He probably left the train before thewreck, --perhaps just after the murder. "

"And so--you think he committed the--the crime?" Her eyes were on thecigarette case. 

"Naturally, " I said. "A man doesn't jump off a Pullman car in the middleof the night in another man's clothes, unless he is trying to get awayfrom something. Besides the dirk, there were the stains that you, saw. Why, I have the murdered man's pocket-book in this valise at my feet. What does that look like?"

I colored when I saw the ghost of a smile hovering around the cornersof her mouth. "That is, " I finished, "if you care to believe that I aminnocent. "

The sustaining chain of her small gold bag gave way just then. She didnot notice it. I picked it up and slid the trinket into my pocket forsafekeeping, where I promptly forgot it. Afterwards I wished I had letit lie unnoticed on the floor of that dirty little suburban car, andeven now, when I see a woman carelessly dangling a similar femininetrinket, I shudder involuntarily: there comes back to me the memory ofa girl's puzzled eyes under the brim of a flopping hat, the hauntingsuspicion of the sleepless nights that followed. 

Just then I was determined that my companion should not stray back tothe wreck, and to that end I was determinedly facetious. 

"Do you know that it is Sunday?" she asked suddenly, "and that we areactually ragged?"

"Never mind that, " I retorted. "All Baltimore is divided on Sunday intothree parts, those who rise up and go to church, those who rise upand read the newspapers, and those who don't rise up. The first aresomewhere between the creed and the sermon, and we need not worry aboutthe others. "

"You treat me like a child, " she said almost pettishly. "Don't try sohard to be cheerful. It--it is almost ghastly. "

After that I subsided like a pricked balloon, and the remainder of theride was made in silence. The information that she would go to friendsin the city was a shock: it meant an earlier separation than I hadplanned for. But my arm was beginning again. In putting her into a cabI struck it and gritted my teeth with the pain. It was probably for thatreason that I forgot the gold bag. 

She leaned forward and held out her hand. "I may not have another chanceto thank you, " she said, "and I think I would better not try, anyhow. I cannot tell you how grateful I am. " I muttered something about thegratitude being mine: owing to the knock I was seeing two cabs, and twogirls were holding out two hands. 

"Remember, " they were both saying, "you have never met me, Mr. Blakeley. And--if you ever hear anything about me--that is not--pleasant, I wantyou to think the best you can of me. Will you?"

The two girls were one now, with little flashes of white light playingall around. "I--I'm afraid that I shall think too well for my own good, "I said unsteadily. And the cab drove on. 

CHAPTER XI. THE NAME WAS SULLIVAN

I had my arm done up temporarily in Baltimore and took the next trainhome. I was pretty far gone when I stumbled out of a cab almost into thescandalized arms of Mrs. Klopton. In fifteen minutes I was in bed, withthat good woman piling on blankets and blistering me in unprotectedplaces with hot-water bottles. And in an hour I had a whiff ofchloroform and Doctor Williams had set the broken bone. 

I dropped asleep then, waking in the late twilight to a realization thatI was at home again, without the papers that meant conviction forAndy Bronson, with a charge of murder hanging over my head, and withsomething more than an impression of the girl my best friend was in lovewith, a girl moreover who was almost as great an enigma as the crimeitself. 

"And I'm no hand at guessing riddles, " I groaned half aloud. Mrs. Klopton came over promptly and put a cold cloth on my forehead. 

"Euphemia, " she said to some one outside the door, "telephone the doctorthat he is still rambling, but that he has switched from green ribbonsto riddles. "

"There's nothing the matter with me, Mrs. Klopton, " I rebelled. "I wasonly thinking out loud. Confound that cloth: it's trickling all overme!" I gave it a fling, and heard it land with a soggy thud on thefloor. 

"Thinking out loud is delirium, " Mrs. Klopton said imperturbably. "Afresh cloth, Euphemia. "

This time she held it on with a firm pressure that I was too weak toresist. I expostulated feebly that I was drowning, which she also laidto my mental exaltation, and then I finally dropped into a damp sleep. It was probably midnight when I roused again. I had been dreaming of thewreck, and it was inexpressibly comforting to feel the stability of mybed, and to realize the equal stability of Mrs. Klopton, who sat, fullyattired, by the night light, reading Science and Health. 

"Does that book say anything about opening the windows on a hot night?"I suggested, when I had got my bearings. 

She put it down immediately and came over to me. If there is one timewhen Mrs. Klopton is chastened--and it is the only time--it is whenshe reads Science and Health. "I don't like to open the shutters, Mr. Lawrence, " she explained. "Not since the night you went away. "

But, pressed further, she refused to explain. "The doctor said you werenot to be excited, " she persisted. "Here's your beef tea. "

"Not a drop until you tell me, " I said firmly. "Besides, you know verywell there's nothing the matter with me. This arm of mine is only afalse belief. " I sat up gingerly. "Now--why don't you open that window?"

Mrs. Klopton succumbed. "Because there are queer goings-on in that housenext door, " she said. "If you will take the beef tea, Mr. Lawrence, Iwill tell you. "

The queer goings-on, however, proved to be slightly disappointing. Itseemed that after I left on Friday night, a light was seen flittingfitfully through the empty house next door. Euphemia had seen it firstand called Mrs. Klopton. Together they had watched it breathlessly untilit disappeared on the lower floor. 

"You should have been a writer of ghost stories, " I said, giving mypillows a thump. "And so it was fitting flitfully!"

"That's what it was doing, " she reiterated. "Fitting flitfully--I meanflitting fitfully--how you do throw me out, Mr. Lawrence! And what'smore, it came again!"

"Oh, come now, Mrs. Klopton, " I objected, "ghosts are like lightning;they never strike twice in the same night. That is only worth half a cupof beef tea. "

"You may ask Euphemia, " she retorted with dignity. "Not more than anhour after, there was a light there again. We saw it through thechinks of the shutters. Only--this time it began at the lower floor andclimbed!"

"You oughtn't to tell ghost stories at night, " came McKnight's voicefrom the doorway. "Really, Mrs. Klopton, I'm amazed at you. You oldduffer! I've got you to thank for the worst day of my life. "

Mrs. Klopton gulped. Then realizing that the "old duffer" was meant forme, she took her empty cup and went out muttering. 

"The Pirate's crazy about me, isn't she?" McKnight said to the closingdoor. Then he swung around and held out his hand. 

"By Jove, " he said, "I've been laying you out all day, lilies on thedoor-bell, black gloves, everything. If you had had the sense of amosquito in a snow-storm, you would have telephoned me. "

"I never even thought of it. " I was filled with remorse. "Upon my word, Rich, I hadn't an idea beyond getting away from that place. If you hadseen what I saw--"

McKnight stopped me. "Seen it! Why, you lunatic, I've been digging foryou all day in the ruins! I've lunched and dined on horrors. Give mesomething to rinse them down, Lollie. "

He had fished the key of the cellarette from its hiding-place in my shoebag and was mixing himself what he called a Bernard Shaw--a foundationof brandy and soda, with a little of everything else in sight to give itsnap. Now that I saw him clearly, he looked weary and grimy. I hated totell him what I knew he was waiting to hear, but there was no use wadingin by inches. I ducked and got it over. 

"The notes are gone, Rich, " I said, as quietly as I could. In spite ofhimself his face fell. 

"I--of course I expected it, " he said. "But--Mrs. Klopton said over thetelephone that you had brought home a grip and I hoped--well, Lord knowswe ought not to complain. You're here, damaged, but here. " He lifted hisglass. "Happy days, old man!"

"If you will give me that black bottle and a teaspoon, I'll drink thatin arnica, or whatever the stuff is; Rich, --the notes were gone beforethe wreck!"

He wheeled and stared at me, the bottle in his hand. "Lost, strayed orstolen?" he queried with forced lightness. 

"Stolen, although I believe the theft was incidental to something else. "

Mrs. Klopton came in at that moment, with an eggnog in her hand. Sheglanced at the clock, and, without addressing any one in particular, sheintimated that it was time for self-respecting folks to be at home inbed. McKnight, who could never resist a fling at her back, spoke to mein a stage whisper. 

"Is she talking still? or again?" he asked, just before the door closed. There was a second's indecision with the knob, then, judging discretionthe better part, Mrs. Klopton went away. 

"Now, then, " McKnight said, settling himself in a chair beside thebed, "spit it out. Not the wreck--I know all I want about that. But thetheft. I can tell you beforehand that it was a woman. "

I had crawled painfully out of bed, and was in the act of pouring theegg-nog down the pipe of the washstand. I paused, with the glass in theair. 

"A woman!" I repeated, startled. "What makes you think that?"

"You don't know the first principles of a good detective yarn, " he saidscornfully. "Of course, it was the woman in the empty house next door. You said it was brass pipes, you will remember. Well--on with the dance:let joy be unconfined. "

So I told the story; I had told it so many times that day that I did itautomatically. And I told about the girl with the bronze hair, and mysuspicions. But I did not mention Alison West. McKnight listened to theend without interruption. When I had finished he drew a long breath. 

"Well!" he said. "That's something of a mess, isn't it? If you can onlyprove your mild and child-like disposition, they couldn't hold you forthe murder--which is a regular ten-twent-thirt crime, anyhow. But thenotes--that's different. They are not burned, anyhow. Your man wasn't onthe train--therefore, he wasn't in the wreck. If he didn't know whathe was taking, as you seem to think, he probably reads the papers, andunless he is a fathead, he's awake by this time to what he's got. He'lltry to sell them to Bronson, probably. "

"Or to us, " I put in. 

We said nothing for a few minutes. McKnight smoked a cigarette andstared at a photograph of Candida over the mantel. Candida is the bestpony for a heavy mount in seven states. 

"I didn't go to Richmond, " he observed finally. The remark followed myown thoughts so closely that I started. "Miss West is not home yet fromSeal Harbor. "

Receiving no response, he lapsed again into thoughtful silence. Mrs. Klopton came in just as the clock struck one, and made preparation forthe night by putting a large gaudy comfortable into an arm-chair in thedressing-room, with a smaller, stiff-backed chair for her feet. She waswonderfully attired in a dressing-gown that was reminiscent, in parts, of all the ones she had given me for a half dozen Christmases, and shehad a purple veil wrapped around her head, to hide Heaven knows whatdeficiency. She examined the empty egg-nog glass, inquired what theevening paper had said about the weather, and then stalked into thedressing-room, and prepared, with much ostentatious creaking, to sit upall night. 

We fell silent again, while McKnight traced a rough outline of theberths on the white table-cover, and puzzled it out slowly. It wassomething like this: ____________________________________ | 12 | 10 | 8 | |____________|___________|___________| |_______________AISLE________________| | 11 | 9 | 7 | |____________|___________|___________|

"You think he changed the tags on seven and nine, so that when you wentback to bed you thought you were crawling into nine, when it was reallyseven, eh?"

"Probably-yes. "

"Then toward morning, when everybody was asleep, your theory is that hechanged the numbers again and left the train. "

"I can't think of anything else, " I replied wearily. 

"Jove, what a game of bridge that fellow would play! It was likefinessing an eight-spot and winning out. They would scarcely havedoubted your story had the tags been reversed in the morning. Hecertainly left you in a bad way. Not a jury in the country would standout against the stains, the stiletto, and the murdered man's pocket-bookin your possession. "

"Then you think Sullivan did it?" I asked. 

"Of course, " said McKnight confidently. "Unless you did it in yoursleep. Look at the stains on his pillow, and the dirk stuck into it. Anddidn't he have the man Harrington's pocket-book?"

"But why did he go off without the money?" I persisted. "And where doesthe bronze-haired girl come in?"

"Search me, " McKnight retorted flippantly. "Inflammation of theimagination on your part. "

"Then there is the piece of telegram. It said lower ten, car seven. It'sextremely likely that she had it. That telegram was about me, Richey. "

"I'm getting a headache, " he said, putting out his cigarette against thesole of his shoe. "All I'm certain of just now is that if there hadn'tbeen a wreck, by this time you'd be sitting in an eight by ten cell, andfeeling like the rhyme for it. "

"But listen to this, " I contended, as he picked up his hat, "this fellowSullivan is a fugitive, and he's a lot more likely to make advances toBronson than to us. We could have the case continued, release Bronson onbail and set a watch on him. "

"Not my watch, " McKnight protested. "It's a family heirloom. "

"You'd better go home, " I said firmly. "Go home and go to bed. You'resleepy. You can have Sullivan's red necktie to dream over if you thinkit will help any. "

Mrs. Klopton's voice came drowsily from the next room, punctuated by ayawn. "Oh, I forgot to tell you, " she called, with the suspicious lispwhich characterizes her at night, "somebody called up about noon, Mr. Lawrence. It was long distance, and he said he would call again. Thename was"--she yawned--"Sullivan. "

CHAPTER XII. THE GOLD BAG

I have always smiled at those cases of spontaneous combustion which, like fusing the component parts of a seidlitz powder, unite two peoplein a bubbling and ephemeral ecstasy. But surely there is possible, withbut a single meeting, an attraction so great, a community of mind andinterest so strong, that between that first meeting and the next thebond may grow into something stronger. This is especially true, I fancy, of people with temperament, the modern substitute for imagination. It isa nice question whether lovers begin to love when they are together, orwhen they are apart. 

Not that I followed any such line of reasoning at the time. I would noteven admit my folly to myself. But during the restless hours of thatfirst night after the accident, when my back ached with lying on it, and any other position was torture, I found my thoughts constantly goingback to Alison West. I dropped into a doze, to dream of touchingher fingers again to comfort her, and awoke to find I had patted ateaspoonful of medicine out of Mrs. Klopton's indignant hand. What wasit McKnight had said about making an egregious ass of myself?

And that brought me back to Richey, and I fancy I groaned. There is nouse expatiating on the friendship between two men who have gone togetherthrough college, have quarreled and made it up, fussed together overpolitics and debated creeds for years: men don't need to be told, andwomen can not understand. Nevertheless, I groaned. If it had been anyone but Rich!

Some things were mine, however, and I would hold them: the halcyonbreakfast, the queer hat, the pebble in her small shoe, the gold bagwith the broken chain--the bag! Why, it was in my pocket at that moment. 

I got up painfully and found my coat. Yes, there was the purse, bulgingwith an opulent suggestion of wealth inside. I went back to bed again, somewhat dizzy, between effort and the touch of the trinket, so latelyhers. I held it up by its broken chain and gloated over it. By carefulattention to orders, I ought to be out in a day or so. Then--I couldreturn it to her. I really ought to do that: it was valuable, and Iwouldn't care to trust it to the mail. I could run down to Richmond, andsee her once--there was no disloyalty to Rich in that. 

I had no intention of opening the little bag. I put it under mypillow--which was my reason for refusing to have the linen slipschanged, to Mrs. Klopton's dismay. And sometimes during the morning, while I lay under a virgin field of white, ornamented with strangeflowers, my cigarettes hidden beyond discovery, and Science and Healthon a table by my elbow, as if by the merest accident, I slid my handunder my pillow and touched it reverently. 

McKnight came in about eleven. I heard his car at the curb, followedalmost immediately by his slam at the front door, and his usual clamoron the stairs. He had a bottle under his arm, rightly surmising thatI had been forbidden stimulant, and a large box of cigarettes in hispocket, suspecting my deprivation. 

"Well, " he said cheerfully. "How did you sleep after keeping me up halfthe night?"

I slid my hand around: the purse was well covered. "Have it now, or waittill I get the cork out?" he rattled on. 

"I don't want anything, " I protested. "I wish you wouldn't be so darnedcheerful, Richey. " He stopped whistling to stare at me. 

"'I am saddest when I sing!'" he quoted unctuously. "It's pure reaction, Lollie. Yesterday the sky was low: I was digging for my best friend. To-day--he lies before me, his peevish self. Yesterday I thought thenotes were burned: to-day--I look forward to a good cross-country chase, and with luck we will draw. " His voice changed suddenly. "Yesterday--shewas in Seal Harbor. To-day--she is here. "

"Here in Washington?" I asked, as naturally as I could. 

"Yes. Going to stay a week or two. "

 "Oh, I had a little hen and she had a wooden leg And nearly every morning she used to lay an egg--"

"Will you stop that racket, Rich! It's the real thing this time, Isuppose?"

 "She's the best little chicken that we have on the farm And another little drink won't do us any harm--"

he finished, twisting out the corkscrew. Then he came over and sat downon the bed. 

"Well, " he said judicially, "since you drag it from me, I think perhapsit is. You--you're such a confirmed woman-hater that I hardly knew howyou would take it. "

"Nothing of the sort, " I denied testily. "Because a man reaches the ageof thirty without making maudlin love to every--"

"I've taken to long country rides, " he went on reflectively, withoutlistening to me, "and yesterday I ran over a sheep; nearly went into theditch. But there's a Providence that watches over fools and lovers, andjust now I know darned well that I'm one, and I have a sneaking idea I'mboth. "

"You are both, " I said with disgust. "If you can be rational for onemoment, I wish you would tell me why that man Sullivan called me overthe telephone yesterday morning. "

"Probably hadn't yet discovered the Bronson notes--providing you hold toyour theory that the theft was incidental to the murder. May have wantedhis own clothes again, or to thank you for yours. Search me: I can'tthink of anything else. " The doctor came in just then. 

As I said before, I think a lot of my doctor--when I am ill. He is ayoung man, with an air of breezy self-confidence and good humor. He looked directly past the bottle, which is a very valuableaccomplishment, and shook hands with McKnight until I could put thecigarettes under the bedclothes. He had interdicted tobacco. Then he satdown beside the bed and felt around the bandages with hands as gentle asa baby's. 

"Pretty good shape, " he said. "How did you sleep?"

"Oh, occasionally, " I replied. "I would like to sit up, doctor. "

"Nonsense. Take a rest while you have an excuse for it. I wish tothunder I could stay in bed for a day or so. I was up all night. "

"Have a drink, " McKnight said, pushing over the bottle. 

"Twins!" The doctor grinned. 

"Have two drinks. "

But the medical man refused. 

"I wouldn't even wear a champagne-colored necktie during businesshours, " he explained. "By the way, I had another case from youraccident, Mr. Blakeley, late yesterday afternoon. Under the tongue, please. " He stuck a thermometer in my mouth. 

I had a sudden terrible vision of the amateur detective coming to light, note-book, cheerful impertinence and incriminating data. "A small man?"I demanded, "gray hair--"

"Keep your mouth closed, " the doctor said peremptorily. "No. A woman, with a fractured skull. Beautiful case. Van Kirk was up to his eyes andsent for me. Hemorrhage, right-sided paralysis, irregular pupils--allthe trimmings. Worked for two hours. "

"Did she recover?" McKnight put in. He was examining the doctor with anew awe. 

"She lifted her right arm before I left, " the doctor finished cheerily, "so the operation was a success, even if she should die. "

"Good Heavens, " McKnight broke in, "and I thought you were just anordinary mortal, like the rest of us! Let me touch you for luck. Was shepretty?"

"Yes, and young. Had a wealth of bronze-colored hair. Upon my soul, Ihated to cut it. "

McKnight and I exchanged glances. 

"Do you know her name, doctor?" I asked. 

"No. The nurses said her clothes came from a Pittsburg tailor. "

"She is not conscious, I suppose?"

"No; she may be, to-morrow--or in a week. "

He looked at the thermometer, murmured something about liquid diet, avoiding my eye--Mrs. Klopton was broiling a chop at the time--andtook his departure, humming cheerfully as he went down-stairs. McKnightlooked after him wistfully. 

"Jove, I wish I had his constitution, " he exclaimed. "Neither nerves norheart! What a chauffeur he would make!"

But I was serious. 

"I have an idea, " I said grimly, "that this small matter of the murderis going to come up again, and that your uncle will be in the deuce ofa fix if it does. If that woman is going to die, somebody ought to bearound to take her deposition. She knows a lot, if she didn't do itherself. I wish you would go down to the telephone and get the hospital. Find out her name, and if she is conscious. "

McKnight went under protest. "I haven't much time, " he said, looking athis watch. "I'm to meet Mrs. West and Alison at one. I want you to knowthem, Lollie. You would like the mother. "

"Why not the daughter?" I inquired. I touched the little gold bag underthe pillow. 

"Well, " he said judicially, "you've always declared against theimmaturity and romantic nonsense of very young women--"

"I never said anything of the sort, " I retorted furiously. 

"'There is more satisfaction to be had out of a good saddle horse!'" hequoted me. "'More excitement out of a polo pony, and as for the eternalmatrimonial chase, give me instead a good stubble, a fox, some decenthounds and a hunter, and I'll show you the real joys of the chase!'"

"For Heaven's sake, go down to the telephone, you make my head ache, " Isaid savagely. 

I hardly know what prompted me to take out the gold purse and look atit. It was an imbecile thing to do--call it impulse, sentimentality, what you wish. I brought it out, one eye on the door, for Mrs. Klopton has a ready eye and a noiseless shoe. But the house was quiet. Down-stairs McKnight was flirting with the telephone central andthere was an odor of boneset tea in the air. I think Mrs. Klopton wasfascinated out of her theories by the "boneset" in connection with thefractured arm. 

Anyhow, I held up the bag and looked at it. It must have beenunfastened, for the next instant there was an avalanche on the snowfieldof the counterpane--some money, a wisp of a handkerchief, a tiny bookletwith thin leaves, covered with a powdery substance--and a necklace. Idrew myself up slowly and stared at the necklace. 

It was one of the semi-barbaric affairs that women are wearing now, aheavy pendant of gold chains and carved cameos, swung from a thin neckchain of the same metal. The necklace was broken: in three places thelinks were pulled apart and the cameos swung loose and partly detached. But it was the supporting chain that held my eye and fascinated withits sinister suggestion. Three inches of it had been snapped off, and aswell as I knew anything on earth, I knew that the bit of chain that theamateur detective had found, blood-stain and all, belonged just there. 

And there was no one I could talk to about it, no one to tell me howhideously absurd it was, no one to give me a slap and tell me there aretons of fine gold chains made every year, or to point out the long armof coincidence!

With my one useful hand I fumbled the things back into the bag andthrust it deep out of sight among the pillows. Then I lay back in a coldperspiration. What connection had Alison West with this crime? Why hadshe stared so at the gun-metal cigarette case that morning on the train?What had alarmed her so at the farm-house? What had she taken back tothe gate? Why did she wish she had not escaped from the wreck? And last, in Heaven's name, how did a part of her necklace become torn off andcovered with blood?

Down-stairs McKnight was still at the telephone, and amusing himselfwith Mrs. Klopton in the interval of waiting. 

"Why did he come home in a gray suit, when he went away in a blue?" herepeated. "Well, wrecks are queer things, Mrs. Klopton. The suit mayhave turned gray with fright. Or perhaps wrecks do as queer stunts aslightning. Friend of mine once was struck by lightning; he and the caddyhad taken refuge under a tree. After the flash, when they recoveredconsciousness, there was my friend in the caddy's clothes, and the caddyin his. And as my friend was a large man and the caddy a very smallboy--"

McKnight's story was interrupted by the indignant slam of thedining-room door. He was obliged to wait some time, and even his eternalcheerfulness was ebbing when he finally got the hospital. 

"Is Doctor Van Kirk there?" he asked. "Not there? Well, can you tell mehow the patient is whom Doctor Williams, from Washington, operated onlast night? Well, I'm glad of that. Is she conscious? Do you happen toknow her name? Yes, I'll hold the line. " There was a long pause, thenMcKnight's voice:

"Hello--yes. Thank you very much. Good-by. "

He came up-stairs, two steps at a time. 

"Look here, " he said, bursting into the room, "there may be something inyour theory, after all. The woman's name--it may be a coincidence, butit's curious--her name is Sullivan. "

"What did I tell you?" I said, sitting up suddenly in bed. "She'sprobably a sister of that scoundrel in lower seven, and she was afraidof what he might do. "

"Well, I'll go there some day soon. She's not conscious yet. Inthe meantime, the only thing I can do is to keep an eye, through adetective, on the people who try to approach Bronson. We'll have thecase continued, anyhow, in the hope that the stolen notes will sooner orlater turn up. "

"Confound this arm, " I said, paying for my energy with some excruciatingthrobs. "There's so much to be looked after, and here I am, bandaged, splinted, and generally useless. It's a beastly shame. "

"Don't forget that I am here, " said McKnight pompously. "And anotherthing, when you feel this way just remember there are two less desirableplaces where you might be. One is jail, and the other is--" He strummedon an imaginary harp, with devotional eyes. 

But McKnight's light-heartedness jarred on me that morning. I lay andfrowned under my helplessness. When by chance I touched the little goldbag, it seemed to scorch my fingers. Richey, finding me unresponsive, left to keep his luncheon engagement with Alison West. As he clattereddown the stairs, I turned my back to the morning sunshine and abandonedmyself to misery. By what strain on her frayed nerves was Alison Westkeeping up, I wondered? Under the circumstances, would I dare to returnthe bag? Knowing that I had it, would she hate me for my knowledge? Orhad I exaggerated the importance of the necklace, and in that case hadshe forgotten me already?

But McKnight had not gone, after all. I heard him coming back, his voicepreceding him, and I groaned with irritation. 

"Wake up!" he called. "Somebody's sent you a lot of flowers. Please holdthe box, Mrs. Klopton; I'm going out to be run down by an automobile. "

I roused to feeble interest. My brother's wife is punctilious about suchthings; all the new babies in the family have silver rattles, and allthe sick people flowers. 

McKnight pulled up an armful of roses, and held them out to me. 

"Wonder who they're from?" he said, fumbling in the box for a card. "There's no name--yes, here's one. "

He held it up and read it with exasperating slowness. 

 "'Best wishes for an early recovery. A COMPANION IN MISFORTUNE. '

"Well, what do you know about that!" he exclaimed. "That's something youdidn't tell me, Lollie. "

"It was hardly worth mentioning, " I said mendaciously, with my heartbeating until I could hear it. She had not forgotten, after all. 

McKnight took a bud and fastened it in his button-hole. I'm afraid I wasnot especially pleasant about it. They were her roses, and anyhow, theywere meant for me. Richey left very soon, with an irritating final grinat the box. 

"Good-by, sir woman-hater, " he jeered at me from the door. 

So he wore one of the roses she had sent me, to luncheon with her, andI lay back among my pillows and tried to remember that it was his game, anyhow, and that I wasn't even drawing cards. To remember that, and toforget the broken necklace under my head!

CHAPTER XIII. FADED ROSES

I was in the house for a week. Much of that time I spent in composingand destroying letters of thanks to Miss West, and in growling at thedoctor. McKnight dropped in daily, but he was less cheerful than usual. Now and then I caught him eying me as if he had something to say, butwhatever it was he kept it to himself. Once during the week he went toBaltimore and saw the woman in the hospital there. From the descriptionI had little difficulty in recognizing the young woman who had been withthe murdered man in Pittsburg. But she was still unconscious. An elderlyaunt had appeared, a gaunt person in black, who sat around like abuzzard on a fence, according to McKnight, and wept, in a mixed figure, into a damp handkerchief. 

On the last day of my imprisonment he stopped in to thrash out a casethat was coming up in court the next day, and to play a game of doublesolitaire with me. 

"Who won the ball game?" I asked. 

"We were licked. Ask me something pleasant. Oh, by the way, Bronson'sout to-day. "

"I'm glad I'm not on his bond, " I said pessimistically. "He'll clearout. "

"Not he. " McKnight pounced on my ace. "He's no fool. Don't you supposehe knows you took those notes to Pittsburg? The papers were full of it. And he knows you escaped with your life and a broken arm from the wreck. What do we do next? The Commonwealth continues the case. A deaf man on adark night would know those notes are missing. "

"Don't play so fast, " I remonstrated. "I have only one arm to your two. Who is trailing Bronson? Did you try to get Johnson?"

"I asked for him, but he had some work on hand. "

"The murder's evidently a dead issue, " I reflected. "No, I'm not joking. The wreck destroyed all the evidence. But I'm firmly convinced thosenotes will be offered, either to us or to Bronson very soon. Johnson'sa blackguard, but he's a good detective. He could make his fortune as agame dog. What's he doing?"

McKnight put down his cards, and rising, went to the window. As he heldthe curtain back his customary grin looked a little forced. 

"To tell you the truth, Lollie, " he said, "for the last two days he hasbeen watching a well-known Washington attorney named Lawrence Blakeley. He's across the street now. "

It took a moment for me to grasp what he meant. 

"Why, it's ridiculous, " I asserted. "What would they trail me for? Goover and tell Johnson to get out of there, or I'll pot at him with myrevolver. "

"You can tell him that yourself. " McKnight paused and bent forward. "Hello, here's a visitor; little man with string halt. "

"I won't see him, " I said firmly. "I've been bothered enough withreporters. "

We listened together to Mrs. Klopton's expostulating tones in the lowerhall and the creak of the boards as she came heavily up the stairs. Shehad a piece of paper in her hand torn from a pocket account-book, and onit was the name, "Mr. Wilson Budd Hotchkiss. Important business. "

"Oh, well, show him up, " I said resignedly. "You'd better put thosecards away, Richey. I fancy it's the rector of the church around thecorner. "

But when the door opened to admit a curiously alert little man, adjusting his glasses with nervous fingers, my face must have shown mydismay. 

It was the amateur detective of the Ontario!

I shook hands without enthusiasm. Here was the one survivor of thewrecked car who could do me any amount of harm. There was no hope thathe had forgotten any of the incriminating details. In fact, he held inhis hand the very note-book which contained them. 

His manner was restrained, but it was evident he was highly excited. I introduced him to McKnight, who has the imagination I lack, and whoplaced him at once, mentally. 

"I only learned yesterday that you had been--er--saved, " he saidrapidly. "Terrible accident--unspeakable. Dream about it all night andthink about it all day. Broken arm?"

"No. He just wears the splint to be different from other people, "McKnight drawled lazily. I glared at him: there was nothing to be gainedby antagonizing the little man. 

"Yes, a fractured humerus, which isn't as funny as it sounds. "

"Humerus-humorous! Pretty good, " he cackled. "I must say you keep upyour spirits pretty well, considering everything. "

"You seem to have escaped injury, " I parried. He was fumbling forsomething in his pockets. 

"Yes, I escaped, " he replied abstractedly. "Remarkable thing, too. Ihaven't a doubt I would have broken my neck, but I landed on--you'llnever guess what! I landed head first on the very pillow which was underinspection at the time of the wreck. You remember, don't you? Where didI put that package?"

He found it finally and opened it on a table, displaying with sometheatricalism a rectangular piece of muslin and a similar patch ofstriped ticking. 

"You recognize it?" he said. "The stains, you see, and the hole made bythe dirk. I tried to bring away the entire pillow, but they thought Iwas stealing it, and made me give it up. "

Richey touched the pieces gingerly. "By George, " he said, "and youcarry that around in your pocket! What if you should mistake it for yourhandkerchief?"

But Mr. Hotchkiss was not listening. He stood bent somewhat forward, leaning over the table, and fixed me with his ferret-like eyes. 

"Have you see the evening papers, Mr. Blakeley?" he inquired. 

I glanced to where they lay unopened, and shook my head. 

"Then I have a disagreeable task, " he said with evident relish. "Ofcourse, you had considered the matter of the man Harrington's deathclosed, after the wreck. I did myself. As far as I was concerned, Imeant to let it remain so. There were no other survivors, at least nonethat I knew of, and in spite of circumstances, there were a number ofpoints in your favor. "

"Thank you, " I put in with a sarcasm that was lost on him. 

"I verified your identity, for instance, as soon as I recovered fromthe shock. Also--I found on inquiring of your tailor that you invariablywore dark clothing. "

McKnight came forward threateningly. "Who are you, anyhow?" he demanded. "And how is this any business of yours?" Mr. Hotchkiss was entirelyunruffled. 

"I have a minor position here, " he said, reaching for a visiting card. "I am a very small patch on the seat of government, sir. "

McKnight muttered something about certain offensive designs against thesaid patch and retired grumbling to the window. Our visitor was openingthe paper with a tremendous expenditure of energy. 

"Here it is. Listen. " He read rapidly aloud:

"The Pittsburg police have sent to Baltimore two detectives who arelooking up the survivors of the ill-fated Washington Flier. It hastranspired that Simon Harrington, the Wood Street merchant of that city, was not killed in the wreck, but was murdered in his berth the nightpreceding the accident. Shortly before the collision, John Flanders, theconductor of the Flier, sent this telegram to the chief of police:

 "'Body of Simon Harrington found stabbed in his berth, lower ten, Ontario, at six-thirty this morning. JOHN FLANDERS, Conductor. '

"It is hoped that the survivors of the wrecked car Ontario will befound, to tell what they know of the discovery of the crime. 

"Mr. John Gilmore, head of the steel company for which Mr. Harringtonwas purchasing agent, has signified his intention of sifting the matterto the bottom. "

"So you see, " Hotchkiss concluded, "there's trouble brewing. You and Iare the only survivors of that unfortunate car. "

I did not contradict him, but I knew of two others, at least: AlisonWest, and the woman we had left beside the road that morning, babblingincoherently, her black hair tumbling over her white face. 

"Unless we can find the man who occupied lower seven, " I suggested. 

"I have already tried and failed. To find him would not clear you, ofcourse, unless we could establish some connection between him and themurdered man. It is the only thing I see, however. I have learned thismuch, " Hotchkiss concluded: "Lower seven was reserved from Cresson. "

Cresson! Where Alison West and Mrs. Curtis had taken the train!

McKnight came forward and suddenly held out his hand. "Mr. Hotchkiss, "he said, "I--I'm sorry if I have been offensive. I thought when you camein, that, like the Irishman and the government, you were 'forninst' us. If you will put those cheerful relics out of sight somewhere, I shouldbe glad to have you dine with me at the Incubator. " (His name for hisbachelor apartment. ) "Compared with Johnson, you are the great originalprotoplasm. "

The strength of this was lost on Hotchkiss, but the invitation wasclear. They went out together, and from my window I watched them getinto McKnight's car. It was raining, and at the corner the Cannonballskidded. Across the street my detective, Johnson, looked after them withhis crooked smile. As he turned up his collar he saw me, and lifted hishat. 

I left the window and sat down in the growing dusk. So the occupant oflower seven had got on the car at Cresson, probably with Alison West andher companion. There was some one she cared about enough to shield. Iwent irritably to the door and summoned Mrs. Klopton. 

"You may throw out those roses, " I said without looking at her. "Theyare quite dead. "

"They have been quite dead for three days, " she retorted spitefully. "Euphemia said you threatened to dismiss her if she touched them. "

CHAPTER XIV. THE TRAP-DOOR

By Sunday evening, a week after the wreck, my inaction had goaded me tofrenzy. The very sight of Johnson across the street or lurking, alwayswithin sight of the house, kept me constantly exasperated. It was onthat day that things began to come to a focus, a burning-glass of eventsthat seemed to center on me. 

I dined alone that evening in no cheerful frame of mind. There had beena polo game the day before and I had lent a pony, which is always a badthing to do. And she had wrenched her shoulder, besides helping tolose the game. There was no one in town: the temperature was ninety andclimbing, and my left hand persistently cramped under its bandage. 

Mrs. Klopton herself saw me served, my bread buttered and cut intidbits, my meat ready for my fork. She hovered around me maternally, obviously trying to cheer me. 

"The paper says still warmer, " she ventured. "The thermometer isninety-two now. "

"And this coffee is two hundred and fifty, " I said, putting down my cup. "Where is Euphemia? I haven't seen her around, or heard a dish smash allday. "

"Euphemia is in bed, " Mrs. Klopton said gravely. "Is your meat cutsmall enough, Mr. Lawrence?" Mrs. Klopton can throw more mystery intoan ordinary sentence than any one I know. She can say, "Are your sheetsdamp, sir?" And I can tell from her tone that the house across thestreet has been robbed, or that my left hand neighbor has appendicitis. So now I looked up and asked the question she was waiting for. 

"What's the matter with Euphemia?" I inquired idly. 

"Frightened into her bed, " Mrs. Klopton said in a stage whisper. "She'shad three hot water bottles and she hasn't done a thing all day butmoan. "

"She oughtn't to take hot water bottles, " I said in my severesttone. "One would make me moan. You need not wait, I'll ring if I needanything. "

Mrs. Klopton sailed to the door, where she stopped and wheeledindignantly. "I only hope you won't laugh on the wrong side of your facesome morning, Mr. Lawrence, " she declared, with Christian fortitude. "But I warn you, I am going to have the police watch that house nextdoor. "

I was half inclined to tell her that both it and we were under policesurveillance at that moment. But I like Mrs. Klopton, in spite of thefact that I make her life a torment for her, so I refrained. 

"Last night, when the paper said it was going to storm, I sent Euphemiato the roof to bring the rugs in. Eliza had slipped out, although it washer evening in. Euphemia went up to the roof--it was eleven o'clock--andsoon I heard her running down-stairs crying. When she got to my room shejust folded up on the floor. She said there was a black figure sittingon the parapet of the house next door--the empty house--and that whenshe appeared it rose and waved long black arms at her and spit like acat. "

I had finished my dinner and was lighting a cigarette. "If there was anyone up there, which I doubt, they probably sneezed, " I suggested. "Butif you feel uneasy, I'll take a look around the roof to-night beforeI turn in. As far as Euphemia goes, I wouldn't be uneasy abouther--doesn't she always have an attack of some sort when Eliza rings inan extra evening on her?"

So I made a superficial examination of the window locks that night, visiting parts of the house that I had not seen since I bought it. ThenI went to the roof. Evidently it had not been intended for any purposesave to cover the house, for unlike the houses around, there was nostaircase. A ladder and a trap-door led to it, and it required some nicebalancing on my part to get up with my useless arm. I made it, however, and found this unexplored part of my domain rather attractive. It wascooler than down-stairs, and I sat on the brick parapet and smoked myfinal cigarette. The roof of the empty house adjoined mine along theback wing, but investigation showed that the trap-door across the lowdividing wall was bolted underneath. 

There was nothing out of the ordinary anywhere, and so I assuredMrs. Klopton. Needless to say, I did not tell her that I had left thetrap-door open, to see if it would improve the temperature of the house. I went to bed at midnight, merely because there was nothing else to do. I turned on the night lamp at the head of my bed, and picked up a volumeof Shaw at random (it was Arms and the Man, and I remember thinkinggrimly that I was a good bit of a chocolate cream soldier myself), and prepared to go to sleep. Shaw always puts me to sleep. I haveno apologies to make for what occurred that night, and not even anexplanation that I am sure of. I did a foolish thing under impulse, andI have not been sorry. 

It was something after two when the door-bell rang. It rang quickly, twice. I got up drowsily, for the maids and Mrs. Klopton alwayslock themselves beyond reach of the bell at night, and put on adressing-gown. The bell rang again on my way down-stairs. I lit the halllight and opened the door. I was wide-awake now, and I saw that it wasJohnson. His bald head shone in the light--his crooked mouth was twistedin a smile. 

"Good Heavens, man, " I said irritably. "Don't you ever go home and go tobed?"

He closed the vestibule door behind him and cavalierly turned out thelight. Our dialogue was sharp, staccato. 

"Have you a key to the empty house next door?" he demanded. "Somebody'sin there, and the latch is caught. "

"The houses are alike. The key to this door may fit. Did you see them goin?"

"No. There's a light moving up from room to room. I saw something likeit last night, and I have been watching. The patrolman reported queerdoings there a week or so ago. "

"A light!" I exclaimed. "Do you mean that you--"

"Very likely, " he said grimly. "Have you a revolver?"

"All kinds in the gun rack, " I replied, and going into the den, I cameback with a Smith and Wesson. "I'm not much use, " I explained, "withthis arm, but I'll do what I can. There may be somebody there. Theservants here have been uneasy. "

Johnson planned the campaign. He suggested on account of my familiaritywith the roof, that I go there and cut off escape in that direction. "Ihave Robison out there now--the patrolman on the beat, " he said. "He'llwatch below and you above, while I search the house. Be as quiet aspossible. "

I was rather amused. I put on some clothes and felt my way carefullyup the stairs, the revolver swinging free in my pocket, my hand on therail. At the foot of the ladder I stopped and looked up. Above me therewas a gray rectangle of sky dotted with stars. It occurred to me thatwith my one serviceable hand holding the ladder, I was hardly in aposition to defend myself, that I was about to hoist a body that I amrather careful of into a danger I couldn't see and wasn't particularlykeen about anyhow. I don't mind saying that the seconds it took me toscramble up the ladder were among the most unpleasant that I recall. 

I got to the top, however, without incident. I could see fairlywell after the darkness of the house beneath, but there was nothingsuspicious in sight. The roofs, separated by two feet of brick wall, stretched around me, unbroken save by an occasional chimney. I went verysoftly over to the other trap, the one belonging to the suspected house. It was closed, but I imagined I could hear Johnson's footsteps ascendingheavily. Then even that was gone. A near-by clock struck three as Istood waiting. I examined my revolver then, for the first time, andfound it was empty!

I had been rather skeptical until now. I had had the usual tolerantattitude of the man who is summoned from his bed to search for burglars, combined with the artificial courage of firearms. With the discoveryof my empty gun, I felt like a man on the top of a volcano in livelyeruption. Suddenly I found myself staring incredulously at the trap-doorat my feet. I had examined it early in the evening and found it bolted. Did I imagine it, or had it raised about an inch? Wasn't it movingslowly as I looked? No, I am not a hero: I was startled almost into apanic. I had one arm, and whoever was raising that trap-door had two. Myknees had a queer inclination to bend the wrong way. 

Johnson's footsteps were distinct enough, but he was evidently farbelow. The trap, raised perhaps two inches now, remained stationary. There was no sound from beneath it: once I thought I heard two or threegasping respirations: I am not sure they were not my own. I wanteddesperately to stand on one leg at a time and hold the other up out offocus of a possible revolver. 

I did not see the hand appear. There was nothing there, and then it wasthere, clutching the frame of the trap. I did the only thing I couldthink of; I put my foot on it!

There was not a sound from beneath. The next moment I was kneeling andhad clutched the wrist just above the hand. After a second's struggle, the arm was still. With something real to face, I was myself again. 

"Don't move, or I'll stand on the trap and break your arm, " I panted. What else could I threaten? I couldn't shoot, I couldn't even fight. "Johnson!" I called. 

And then I realized the thing that stayed with me for a month, the thingI can not think of even now without a shudder. The hand lay ice cold, strangely quiescent. Under my fingers, an artery was beating feebly. The wrist was as slender as--I held the hand to the light. Then I let itdrop. 

"Good Lord, " I muttered, and remained on my knees, staring at the spotwhere the hand had been. It was gone now: there was a faint rustle inthe darkness below, and then silence. 

I held up my own hand in the starlight and stared at a long scratchin the palm. "A woman!" I said to myself stupidly. "By all that'sridiculous, a woman!"

Johnson was striking matches below and swearing softly to himself. "Howthe devil do you get to the roof?" he called. "I think I've broken mynose. "

He found the ladder after a short search and stood at the bottom, looking up at me. "Well, I suppose you haven't seen him?" he inquired. "There are enough darned cubbyholes in this house to hide a patrolwagon load of thieves. " He lighted a fresh match. "Hello, here's anotherdoor!"

By the sound of his diminishing footsteps I supposed it was a rearstaircase. He came up again in ten minutes or so, this time with thepoliceman. 

"He's gone, all right, " he said ruefully. "If you'd been attending toyour business, Robison, you'd have watched the back door. "

"I'm not twins. " Robison was surly. 

"Well, " I broke in, as cheerfully as I could, "if you are through withthis jolly little affair, and can get down my ladder without havingmy housekeeper ring the burglar alarm, I have some good Monongahelawhisky--eh?"

They came without a second invitation across the roof, and with themsafely away from the house I breathed more freely. Down in the den Ifulfilled my promise, which Johnson drank to the toast, "Coming throughthe rye. " He examined my gun rack with the eye of a connoisseur, andeven when he was about to go he cast a loving eye back at the weapons. 

"Ever been in the army?" he inquired. 

"No, " I said with a bitterness that he noticed but failed to comprehend. "I'm a chocolate cream soldier--you don't read Shaw, I suppose, Johnson?"

"Never heard of him, " the detective said indifferently. "Well, goodnight, Mr. Blakeley. Much obliged. " At the door he hesitated andcoughed. 

"I suppose you understand, Mr. Blakeley, " he said awkwardly, "thatthis--er--surveillance is all in the day's work. I don't like it, butit's duty. Every man to his duty, sir. "

"Sometime when you are in an open mood, Johnson, " I returned, "you canexplain why I am being watched at all. "

CHAPTER XV. THE CINEMATOGRAPH

On Monday I went out for the first time. I did not go to the office. Iwanted to walk. I thought fresh air and exercise would drive away theblue devils that had me by the throat. McKnight insisted on a long dayin his car, but I refused. 

"I don't know why not, " he said sulkily. "I can't walk. I haven't walkedtwo consecutive blocks in three years. Automobiles have made legs mereornaments--and some not even that. We could have Johnson out therechasing us over the country at five dollars an hour!"

"He can chase us just as well at five miles an hour, " I said. "But whatgets me, McKnight, is why I am under surveillance at all. How do thepolice know I was accused of that thing?"

"The young lady who sent the flowers--she isn't likely to talk, is she?"

"No. That is, I didn't say it was a lady. " I groaned as I tried to getmy splinted arm into a coat. "Anyhow, she didn't tell, " I finished withconviction, and McKnight laughed. 

It had rained in the early morning, and Mrs. Klopton predicted moreshowers. In fact, so firm was her belief and so determined her eye thatI took the umbrella she proffered me. 

"Never mind, " I said. "We can leave it next door; I have a story to tellyou, Richey, and it requires proper setting. "

McKnight was puzzled, but he followed me obediently round to the kitchenentrance of the empty house. It was unlocked, as I had expected. Whilewe climbed to the upper floor I retailed the events of the previousnight. 

"It's the finest thing I ever heard of, " McKnight said, staring up atthe ladder and the trap. "What a vaudeville skit it would make! Onlyyou ought not to have put your foot on her hand. They don't do it in thebest circles. "

I wheeled on him impatiently. 

"You don't understand the situation at all, Richey!" I exclaimed. "Whatwould you say if I tell you it was the hand of a lady? It was coveredwith rings. "

"A lady!" he repeated. "Why, I'd say it was a darned compromisingsituation, and that the less you say of it the better. Look here, Lawrence, I think you dreamed it. You've been in the house too much. Itake it all back: you do need exercise. "

"She escaped through this door, I suppose, " I said as patiently as Icould. "Evidently down the back staircase. We might as well go down thatway. "

"According to the best precedents in these affairs, we should find aglove about here, " he said as we started down. But he was more impressedthan he cared to own. He examined the dusty steps carefully, and once, when a bit of loose plaster fell just behind him, he started like anervous woman. 

"What I don't understand is why you let her go, " he said, stopping once, puzzled. "You're not usually quixotic. "

"When we get out into the country, Richey, " I replied gravely, "I amgoing to tell you another story, and if you don't tell me I'm a fool anda craven, on the strength of it, you are no friend of mine. "

We stumbled through the twilight of the staircase into the blacknessof the shuttered kitchen. The house had the moldy smell of closedbuildings: even on that warm September morning it was damp and chilly. As we stepped into the sunshine McKnight gave a shiver. 

"Now that we are out, " he said, "I don't mind telling you that I havebeen there before. Do you remember the night you left, and, the face atthe window?"

"When you speak of it--yes. "

"Well, I was curious about that thing, " he went on, as we started up thestreet, "and I went back. The street door was unlocked, and I examinedevery room. I was Mrs. Klopton's ghost that carried a light, and clumb. "

"Did you find anything?"

"Only a clean place rubbed on the window opposite your dressing-room. Splendid view of an untidy interior. If that house is ever occupied, you'd better put stained glass in that window of yours. "

As we turned the corner I glanced back. Half a block behind us Johnsonwas moving our way slowly. When he saw me he stopped and proceeded withgreat deliberation to light a cigar. By hurrying, however, he caughtthe car that we took, and stood unobtrusively on the rear platform. He looked fagged, and absent-mindedly paid our fares, to McKnight'sdelight. 

"We will give him a run for his money, " he declared, as the car movedcountryward. "Conductor, let us off at the muddiest lane you can find. "

At one o'clock, after a six-mile ramble, we entered a small countryhotel. We had seen nothing of Johnson for a half hour. At that time hewas a quarter of a mile behind us, and losing rapidly. Before we hadfinished our luncheon he staggered into the inn. One of his boots wasunder his arm, and his whole appearance was deplorable. He was coatedwith mud, streaked with perspiration, and he limped as he walked. Hechose a table not far from us and ordered Scotch. Beyond touching hishat he paid no attention to us. 

"I'm just getting my second wind, " McKnight declared. "How do you feel, Mr. Johnson? Six or eight miles more and we'll all enjoy our dinners. "Johnson put down the glass he had raised to his lips without replying. 

The fact was, however, that I was like Johnson. I was soft from myweek's inaction, and I was pretty well done up. McKnight, who was a wellspring of vitality and high spirits, ordered a strange concoction, madeof nearly everything in the bar, and sent it over to the detective, butJohnson refused it. 

"I hate that kind of person, " McKnight said pettishly. "Kind of a fellowthat thinks you're going to poison his dog if you offer him a bone. "

When we got back to the car line, with Johnson a draggled and droopingtail to the kite, I was in better spirits. I had told McKnight the storyof the three hours just after the wreck; I had not named the girl, ofcourse; she had my promise of secrecy. But I told him everything else. It was a relief to have a fresh mind on it: I had puzzled so much overthe incident at the farm-house, and the necklace in the gold bag, that Ihad lost perspective. 

He had been interested, but inclined to be amused, until I came to thebroken chain. Then he had whistled softly. 

"But there are tons of fine gold chains made every year, " he said. "Whyin the world do you think that the--er--smeary piece came from thatnecklace?"

I had looked around. Johnson was far behind, scraping the mud off hisfeet with a piece of stick. 

"I have the short end of the chain in the sealskin bag, " I reminded him. "When I couldn't sleep this morning I thought I would settle it, oneway or the other. It was hell to go along the way I had been doing. And--there's no doubt about it, Rich. It's the same chain. "

We walked along in silence until we caught the car back to town. 

"Well, " he said finally, "you know the girl, of course, and I don't. Butif you like her--and I think myself you're rather hard hit, old man--Iwouldn't give a whoop about the chain in the gold purse. It's just oneof the little coincidences that hang people now and then. And as forlast night--if she's the kind of a girl you say she is, and you thinkshe had anything to do with that, you--you're addled, that's all. Youcan depend on it, the lady of the empty house last week is the ladyof last night. And yet your train acquaintance was in Altoona at thattime. "

Just before we got off the car, I reverted to the subject again. It wasnever far back in my mind. 

"About the--young lady of the train, Rich, " I said, with what I supposewas elaborate carelessness, "I don't want you to get a wrong impression. I am rather unlikely to see her again, but even if I do, I--I believeshe is already 'bespoke, ' or next thing to it. "

He made no reply, but as I opened the door with my latch-key he stoodlooking up at me from the pavement with his quizzical smile. 

"Love is like the measles, " he orated. "The older you get it, the worsethe attack. "

Johnson did not appear again that day. A small man in a raincoat tookhis place. The next morning I made my initial trip to the office, the raincoat still on hand. I had a short conference with Miller, thedistrict attorney, at eleven. Bronson was under surveillance, he said, and any attempt to sell the notes to him would probably result in theirrecovery. In the meantime, as I knew, the Commonwealth had continued thecase, in hope of such contingency. 

At noon I left the office and took a veterinarian to see Candida, theinjured pony. By one o'clock my first day's duties were performed, anda long Sahara of hot afternoon stretched ahead. McKnight, always gladto escape from the grind, suggested a vaudeville, and in sheer ennuiI consented. I could neither ride, drive nor golf, and my own companybored me to distraction. 

"Coolest place in town these days, " he declared. "Electric fans, breezysongs, airy costumes. And there's Johnson just behind--the coldestproposition in Washington. "

He gravely bought three tickets and presented the detective with one. Then we went in. Having lived a normal, busy life, the theater in theafternoon is to me about on a par with ice-cream for breakfast. Up onthe stage a very stout woman in short pink skirts, with a smile thatMcKnight declared looked like a slash in a roll of butter, was singingnasally, with a laborious kick at the end of each verse. Johnson, tworows ahead, went to sleep. McKnight prodded me with his elbow. 

"Look at the first box to the right, " he said, in a stage whisper. "Iwant you to come over at the end of this act. "

It was the first time I had seen her since I put her in the cab atBaltimore. Outwardly I presume I was calm, for no one turned to stare atme, but every atom of me cried out at the sight of her. She was leaning, bent forward, lips slightly parted, gazing raptly at the Japaneseconjurer who had replaced what McKnight disrespectfully called theColumns of Hercules. Compared with the draggled lady of the farm-house, she was radiant. 

For that first moment there was nothing but joy at the sight of her. McKnight's touch on my arm brought me back to reality. 

"Come over and meet them, " he said. "That's the cousin Miss West isvisiting, Mrs. Dallas. "

But I would not go. After he went I sat there alone, painfully consciousthat I was being pointed out and stared at from the box. The abominableJapanese gave way to yet more atrocious performing dogs. 

"How many offers of marriage will the young lady in the box have?"The dog stopped sagely at 'none, ' and then pulled out a card that saideight. Wild shouts of glee by the audience. "The fools, " I muttered. 

After a little I glanced over. Mrs. Dallas was talking to McKnight, butShe was looking straight at me. She was flushed, but more calm than I, and she did not bow. I fumbled for my hat, but the next moment I sawthat they were going, and I sat still. When McKnight came back he wastriumphant. 

"I've made an engagement for you, " he said. "Mrs. Dallas asked me tobring you to dinner to-night, and I said I knew you would fall all overyourself to go. You are requested to bring along the broken arm, and anyother souvenirs of the wreck that you may possess. "

"I'll do nothing of the sort, " I declared, struggling against myinclination. "I can't even tie my necktie, and I have to have my foodcut for me. "

"Oh, that's all right, " he said easily. "I'll send Stogie over to fixyou up, and Mrs. Dal knows all about the arm. I told her. "

(Stogie is his Japanese factotum, so called because he is lean, ayellowish brown in color, and because he claims to have been shippedinto this country in a box. )

The Cinematograph was finishing the program. The house was dark and themusic had stopped, as it does in the circus just before somebody riskshis neck at so much a neck in the Dip of Death, or the hundred-footdive. Then, with a sort of shock, I saw on the white curtain theannouncement:

 THE NEXT PICTURE

IS THE DOOMED WASHINGTON FLIER, TAKEN A SHORT DISTANCE FROM THE SCENE OFTHE WRECK ON THE FATAL MORNING OF SEPTEMBER TENTH. TWO MILES FARTHER ONIT MET WITH ALMOST COMPLETE ANNIHILATION. 

I confess to a return of some of the sickening sensations of the wreck;people around me were leaning forward with tense faces. Then the letterswere gone, and I saw a long level stretch of track, even the brokenstone between the ties standing out distinctly. Far off under a cloudof smoke a small object was rushing toward us and growing larger as itcame. 

Now it was on us, a mammoth in size, with huge drivers and a colossaltender. The engine leaped aside, as if just in time to save us fromdestruction, with a glimpse of a stooping fireman and a grimy engineer. The long train of sleepers followed. From a forward vestibule a porterin a white coat waved his hand. The rest of the cars seemed stillwrapped in slumber. With mixed sensations I saw my own car, Ontario, flypast, and then I rose to my feet and gripped McKnight's shoulder. 

On the lowest step at the last car, one foot hanging free, was a man. His black derby hat was pulled well down to keep it from blowing away, and his coat was flying open in the wind. He was swung well out fromthe car, his free hand gripping a small valise, every muscle tense for ajump. 

"Good God, that's my man!" I said hoarsely, as the audience broke intoapplause. McKnight half rose: in his seat ahead Johnson stifled a yawnand turned to eye me. 

I dropped into my chair limply, and tried to control my excitement. "Theman on the last platform of the train, " I said. "He was just about toleap; I'll swear that was my bag. "

"Could you see his face?" McKnight asked in an undertone. "Would youknow him again?"

"No. His hat was pulled down and his head was bent I'm going back tofind out where that picture was taken. They say two miles, but it mayhave been forty. "

The audience, busy with its wraps, had not noticed. Mrs. Dallas andAlison West had gone. In front of us Johnson had dropped his hat and wasstooping for it. 

"This way, " I motioned to McKnight, and we wheeled into the narrowpassage beside us, back of the boxes. At the end there was a doorleading into the wings, and as we went boldly through I turned the key. 

The final set was being struck, and no one paid any attention to us. Luckily they were similarly indifferent to a banging at the door I hadlocked, a banging which, I judged, signified Johnson. 

"I guess we've broken up his interference, " McKnight chuckled. 

Stage hands were hurrying in every direction; pieces of the side wallof the last drawing-room menaced us; a switchboard behind us was singinglike a tea-kettle. Everywhere we stepped we were in somebody's way. Atlast we were across, confronting a man in his shirt sleeves, who by dotsand dashes of profanity seemed to be directing the chaos. 

"Well?" he said, wheeling on us. "What can I do for you?"

"I would like to ask, " I replied, "if you have any idea just where thelast cinematograph picture was taken. "

"Broken board--picnickers--lake?"

"No. The Washington Flier. "

He glanced at my bandaged arm. 

"The announcement says two miles, " McKnight put in, "but we should liketo know whether it is railroad miles, automobile miles, or policemanmiles. "

"I am sorry I can't tell you, " he replied, more civilly. "We get thosepictures by contract. We don't take them ourselves. "

"Where are the company's offices?"

"New York. " He stepped forward and grasped a super by the shoulder. "What in blazes are you doing with that gold chair in a kitchen set?Take that piece of pink plush there and throw it over a soap box, if youhaven't got a kitchen chair. "

I had not realized the extent of the shock, but now I dropped into achair and wiped my forehead. The unexpected glimpse of Alison West, followed almost immediately by the revelation of the picture, had leftme limp and unnerved. McKnight was looking at his watch. 

"He says the moving picture people have an office down-town. We can makeit if we go now. "

So he called a cab, and we started at a gallop. There was no sign of thedetective. "Upon my word, " Richey said, "I feel lonely without him. "

The people at the down-town office of the cinematograph company werevery obliging. The picture had been taken, they said, at M-, justtwo miles beyond the scene of the wreck. It was not much, but it wassomething to work on. I decided not to go home, but to send McKnight'sJap for my clothes, and to dress at the Incubator. I was determined, ifpossible, to make my next day's investigations without Johnson. In themeantime, even if it was for the last time, I would see Her that night. I gave Stogie a note for Mrs. Klopton, and with my dinner clothes therecame back the gold bag, wrapped in tissue paper. 

CHAPTER XVI. THE SHADOW OF A GIRL

Certain things about the dinner at the Dallas house will always beobscure to me. Dallas was something in the Fish Commission, and Iremember his reeling off fish eggs in billions while we ate our caviar. He had some particular stunt he had been urging the government tofor years--something about forbidding the establishment of mills andfactories on river-banks--it seems they kill the fish, either the smoke, or the noise, or something they pour into the water. 

Mrs. Dallas was there, I think. Of course, I suppose she must have been;and there was a woman in yellow: I took her in to dinner, and I remembershe loosened my clams for me so I could get them. But the only realperson at the table was a girl across in white, a sublimated young womanwho was as brilliant as I was stupid, who never by any chance lookeddirectly at me, and who appeared and disappeared across the candles andorchids in a sort of halo of radiance. 

When the dinner had progressed from salmon to roast, and theconversation had done the same thing--from fish to scandal--theyellow gown turned to me. "We have been awfully good, haven't we, Mr. Blakeley?" she asked. "Although I am crazy to hear, I have not said'wreck' once. I'm sure you must feel like the survivor of Waterloo, orsomething of the sort. "

"If you want me to tell you about the wreck, " I said, glancing acrossthe table, "I'm sorry to be disappointing, but I don't rememberanything. "

"You are fortunate to be able to forget it. " It was the first word MissWest had spoken directly to me, and it went to my head. 

"There are some things I have not forgotten, " I said, over the candles. "I recall coming to myself some time after, and that a girl, a beautifulgirl--"

"Ah!" said the lady in yellow, leaning forward breathlessly. Miss Westwas staring at me coldly, but, once started, I had to stumble on. 

"That a girl was trying to rouse me, and that she told me I had been onfire twice already. " A shudder went around the table. 

"But surely that isn't the end of the story, " Mrs. Dallas put inaggrievedly. "Why, that's the most tantalizing thing I ever heard. "

"I'm afraid that's all, " I said. "She went her way and I went mine. If she recalls me at all, she probably thinks of me as a weak-kneedindividual who faints like a woman when everything is over. "

"What did I tell you?" Mrs. Dallas asserted triumphantly. "He fainted, did you hear? when everything was over! He hasn't begun to tell it. "

I would have given a lot by that time if I had not mentioned the girl. But McKnight took it up there and carried it on. 

"Blakeley is a regular geyser, " he said. "He never spouts until hereaches the boiling point. And by that same token, although he hasn'tsaid much about the Lady of the Wreck, I think he is crazy about her. Infact, I am sure of it. He thinks he has locked his secret in the cavesof his soul, but I call you to witness that he has it nailed to hisface. Look at him!"

I squirmed miserably and tried to avoid the startled eyes of the girlacross the table. I wanted to choke McKnight and murder the rest of theparty. 

"It isn't fair, " I said as coolly as I could. "I have my fingerscrossed; you are five against one. "

"And to think that there was a murder on that very train, " broke in thelady in yellow. "It was a perfect crescendo of horrors, wasn't it? Andwhat became of the murdered man, Mr. Blakeley?"

McKnight had the sense to jump into the conversation and save my reply. 

"They say good Pittsburgers go to Atlantic City when they die, " hesaid. "So--we are reasonably certain the gentleman did not go to theseashore. "

The meal was over at last, and once in the drawing-room it was clearwe hung heavy on the hostess' hands. "It is so hard to get people forbridge in September, " she wailed, "there is absolutely nobody in town. Six is a dreadful number. "

"It's a good poker number, " her husband suggested. 

The matter settled itself, however. I was hopeless, save as a dummy;Miss West said it was too hot for cards, and went out on a balcony thatoverlooked the Mall. With obvious relief Mrs. Dallas had the card-tablebrought, and I was face to face with the minute I had dreaded and hopedfor for a week. 

Now it had come, it was more difficult than I had anticipated. I do notknow if there was a moon, but there was the urban substitute for it--thearc light. It threw the shadow of the balcony railing in long black barsagainst her white gown, and as it swung sometimes her face was in thelight. I drew a chair close so that I could watch her. 

"Do you know, " I said, when she made no effort at speech, "that you area much more formidable person to-night, in that gown, than you were thelast time I saw you?"

The light swung on her face; she was smiling faintly. "The hat with thegreen ribbons!" she said. "I must take it back; I had almost forgotten. "

"I have not forgotten--anything. " I pulled myself up short. This washardly loyalty to Richey. His voice came through the window just then, and perhaps I was wrong, but I thought she raised her head to listen. 

"Look at this hand, " he was saying. "Regular pianola: you could play itwith your feet. "

"He's a dear, isn't he?" Alison said unexpectedly. "No matter howdepressed and downhearted I am, I always cheer up when I see Richey. "

"He's more than that, " I returned warmly. "He is the most honorablefellow I know. If he wasn't so much that way, he would have a careerbefore him. He wanted to put on the doors of our offices, Blakeley andMcKnight, P. B. H. , which is Poor But Honest. "

From my comparative poverty to the wealth of the girl beside me wasa single mental leap. From that wealth to the grandfather who wasresponsible for it was another. 

"I wonder if you know that I had been to Pittsburg to see yourgrandfather when I met you?" I said. 

"You?" She was surprised. 

"Yes. And you remember the alligator bag that I told you was exchangedfor the one you cut off my arm?" She nodded expectantly. "Well, in thatvalise were the forged Andy Bronson notes, and Mr. Gilmore's depositionthat they were forged. "

She was on her feet in an instant. "In that bag!" she cried. "Oh, whydidn't you tell me that before? Oh, it's so ridiculous, so--so hopeless. Why, I could--"

She stopped suddenly and sat down again. "I do not know that I am sorry, after all, " she said after a pause. "Mr. Bronson was a friend of myfather's. I--I suppose it was a bad thing for you, losing the papers?"

"Well, it was not a good thing, " I conceded. "While we are on thesubject of losing things, do you remember--do you know that I still haveyour gold purse?"

She did not reply at once. The shadow of a column was over her face, butI guessed that she was staring at me. 

"You have it!" She almost whispered. 

"I picked it up in the street car, " I said, with a cheerfulness I didnot feel. "It looks like a very opulent little purse. "

Why didn't she speak about the necklace? For just a careless word tomake me sane again!

"You!" she repeated, horror-stricken. And then I produced the purse andheld it out on my palm. "I should have sent it to you before, I suppose, but, as you know, I have been laid up since the wreck. "

We both saw McKnight at the same moment. He had pulled the curtainsaside and was standing looking out at us. The tableau of give andtake was unmistakable; the gold purse, her outstretched hand, my ownattitude. It was over in a second; then he came out and lounged on thebalcony railing. 

"They're mad at me in there, " he said airily, "so I came out. I supposethe reason they call it bridge is because so many people get cross overit. "

The heat broke up the card group soon after, and they all came out forthe night breeze. I had no more words alone with Alison. 

I went back to the Incubator for the night. We said almost nothing onthe way home; there was a constraint between us for the first time thatI could remember. It was too early for bed, and so we smoked in theliving-room and tried to talk of trivial things. After a time even thosefailed, and we sat silent. It was McKnight who finally broached thesubject. 

"And so she wasn't at Seal Harbor at all. "

"No. "

"Do you know where she was, Lollie?"

"Somewhere near Cresson. "

"And that was the purse--her purse--with the broken necklace in it?"

"Yes, it was. You understand, don't you, Rich, that, having given her myword, I couldn't tell you?"

"I understand a lot of things, " he said, without bitterness. 

We sat for some time and smoked. Then Richey got up and stretchedhimself. "I'm off to bed, old man, " he said. "Need any help with thatgame arm of yours?"

"No, thanks, " I returned. 

I heard him go into his room and lock the door. It was a bad hour forme. The first shadow between us, and the shadow of a girl at that. 

CHAPTER XVII. AT THE FARM-HOUSE AGAIN

McKnight is always a sympathizer with the early worm. It was late whenhe appeared. Perhaps, like myself, he had not slept well. But he wasapparently cheerful enough, and he made a better breakfast than I did. It was one o'clock before we got to Baltimore. After a half hour's waitwe took a local for M-, the station near which the cinematograph picturehad been taken. 

We passed the scene of the wreck, McKnight with curiosity, I with asickening sense of horror. Back in the fields was the little farm-housewhere Alison West and I had intended getting coffee, and winding awayfrom the track, maple trees shading it on each side, was the lane wherewe had stopped to rest, and where I had--it seemed presumption beyondbelief now--where I had tried to comfort her by patting her hand. 

We got out at M-, a small place with two or three houses and a generalstore. The station was a one-roomed affair, with a railed-off place atthe end, where a scale, a telegraph instrument and a chair constitutedthe entire furnishing. 

The station agent was a young man with a shrewd face. He stoppedhammering a piece of wood over a hole in the floor to ask where wewanted to go. 

"We're not going, " said McKnight, "we're coming. Have a cigar?"

The agent took it with an inquiring glance, first at it and then at us. 

"We want to ask you a few questions, " began McKnight, perching himselfon the railing and kicking the chair forward for me. "Or, rather, thisgentleman does. "

"Wait a minute, " said the agent, glancing through the window. "There's ahen in that crate choking herself to death. "

He was back in a minute, and took up his position near a sawdust-filledbox that did duty as a cuspidor. 

"Now fire away, " he said. 

"In the first place, " I began, "do you remember the day the WashingtonFlier was wrecked below here?"

"Do I!" he said. "Did Jonah remember the whale?"

"Were you on the platform here when the first section passed?"

"I was. "

"Do you recall seeing a man hanging to the platform of the last car?"

"There was no one hanging there when she passed here, " he said withconviction. "I watched her out of sight. "

"Did you see anything that morning of a man about my size, carrying asmall grip, and wearing dark clothes and a derby hat?" I asked eagerly. 

McKnight was trying to look unconcerned, but I was frankly anxious. Itwas clear that the man had jumped somewhere in the mile of track justbeyond. 

"Well, yes, I did. " The agent cleared his throat. "When the smash camethe operator at MX sent word along the wire, both ways. I got it here, and I was pretty near crazy, though I knew it wasn't any fault of mine. 

"I was standing on the track looking down, for I couldn't leave theoffice, when a young fellow with light hair limped up to me and asked mewhat that smoke was over there. 

"'That's what's left of the Washington Flier, ' I said, 'and I guessthere's souls going up in that smoke. '

"'Do you mean the first section?' he said, getting kind ofgreenish-yellow. 

"'That's what I mean, ' I said; 'split to kindling wood because Rafferty, on the second section, didn't want to be late. '

"He put his hand out in front of him, and the satchel fell with a bang. 

"'My God!' he said, and dropped right on the track in a heap. 

"I got him into the station and he came around, but he kept on groaningsomething awful. He'd sprained his ankle, and when he got a littlebetter I drove him over in Carter's milk wagon to the Carter place, andI reckon he stayed there a spell. "

"That's all, is it?" I asked. 

"That's all--or, no, there's something else. About noon that day oneof the Carter twins came down with a note from him asking me to send along-distance message to some one in Washington. "

"To whom?" I asked eagerly. 

"I reckon I've forgot the name, but the message was that thisfellow--Sullivan was his name--was at M-, and if the man had escapedfrom the wreck would he come to see him. "

"He wouldn't have sent that message to me, " I said to McKnight, rathercrestfallen. "He'd have every object in keeping out of my way. "

"There might be reasons, " McKnight observed judicially. "He might nothave found the papers then. "

"Was the name Blakeley?" I asked. 

"It might have been--I can't say. But the man wasn't there, and therewas a lot of noise. I couldn't hear well. Then in half an hour down camethe other twin to say the gentleman was taking on awful and didn't wantthe message sent. "

"He's gone, of course?"

"Yes. Limped down here in about three days and took the noon train forthe city. "

It seemed a certainty now that our man, having hurt himself somewhatin his jump, had stayed quietly in the farm-house until he was able totravel. But, to be positive, we decided to visit the Carter place. 

I gave the station agent a five-dollar bill, which he rolled up with acouple of others and stuck in his pocket. I turned as we got to a bendin the road, and he was looking curiously after us. 

It was not until we had climbed the hill and turned onto the road to theCarter place that I realized where we were going. Although we approachedit from another direction, I knew the farm-house at once. It was the onewhere Alison West and I had breakfasted nine days before. With the newrestraint between us, I did not tell McKnight. I wondered afterward ifhe had suspected it. I saw him looking hard at the gate-post which hadfigured in one of our mysteries, but he asked no questions. Afterward hegrew almost taciturn, for him, and let me do most of the talking. 

We opened the front gate of the Carter place and went slowly up thewalk. Two ragged youngsters, alike even to freckles and squints, wereplaying in the yard. 

"Is your mother around?" I asked. 

"In the front room. Walk in, " they answered in identical tones. 

As we got to the porch we heard voices, and stopped. I knocked, but thepeople within, engaged in animated, rather one-sided conversation, didnot answer. 

"'In the front room. Walk in, '" quoted McKnight, and did so. 

In the stuffy farm parlor two people were sitting. One, a pleasant-facedwoman with a checked apron, rose, somewhat embarrassed, to meet us. Shedid not know me, and I was thankful. But our attention was riveted ona little man who was sitting before a table, writing busily. It wasHotchkiss!

He got up when he saw us, and had the grace to look uncomfortable. 

"Such an interesting case, " he said nervously, "I took the liberty--"

"Look here, " said McKnight suddenly, "did you make any inquiries at thestation?"

"A few, " he confessed. "I went to the theater last night--I feltthe need of a little relaxation--and the sight of a picture there, acinematograph affair, started a new line of thought. Probably thesame clue brought you gentlemen. I learned a good bit from the stationagent. "

"The son-of-a-gun, " said McKnight. "And you paid him, I suppose?"

"I gave him five dollars, " was the apologetic answer. Mrs. Carter, hearing sounds of strife in the yard, went out, and Hotchkiss folded uphis papers. 

"I think the identity of the man is established, " he said. "What numberof hat do you wear, Mr. Blakeley?"

"Seven and a quarter, " I replied. 

"Well, it's only piling up evidence, " he said cheerfully. "On the nightof the murder you wore light gray silk underclothing, with the secondbutton of the shirt missing. Your hat had 'L. B. ' in gilt lettersinside, and there was a very minute hole in the toe of one black sock. "

"Hush, " McKnight protested. "If word gets to Mrs. Klopton that Mr. Blakeley was wrecked, or robbed, or whatever it was, with a buttonmissing and a hole in one sock, she'll retire to the Old Ladies' Home. I've heard her threaten it. "

Mr. Hotchkiss was without a sense of humor. He regarded McKnight gravelyand went on:

"I've been up in the room where the man lay while he was unable to getaway, and there is nothing there. But I found what may be a possibleclue in the dust heap. 

"Mrs. Carter tells me that in unpacking his grip the other day she tookout of the coat of the pajamas some pieces of a telegram. As I figureit, the pajamas were his own. He probably had them on when he effectedthe exchange. "

I nodded assent. All I had retained of my own clothing was the suit ofpajamas I was wearing and my bath-robe. 

"Therefore the telegram was his, not yours. I have pieces here, but someare missing. I am not discouraged, however. "

He spread out some bits of yellow paper, and we bent over themcuriously. It was something like this:

 Man with p- Get- Br-

We spelled it out slowly. 

"Now, " Hotchkiss announced, "I make it something like this: The 'p. -' isone of two things, pistol--you remember the little pearl-handled affairbelonging to the murdered man--or it is pocket-book. I am inclined tothe latter view, as the pocket-book had been disturbed and the pistolhad not. "

I took the piece of paper from the table and scrawled four words on it. 

"Now, " I said, rearranging them, "it happens, Mr. Hotchkiss, that Ifound one of these pieces of the telegram on the train. I thought it hadbeen dropped by some one else, you see, but that's immaterial. Arrangedthis way it almost makes sense. Fill out that 'p. -' with the rest of theword, as I imagine it, and it makes 'papers, ' and add this scrap and youhave:

"'Man with papers (in) lower ten, car seven. Get (them). '

McKnight slapped Hotchkiss on the back. "You're a trump, " he said. "Br-is Bronson, of course. It's almost too easy. You see, Mr. Blakeleyhere engaged lower ten, but found it occupied by the man who was latermurdered there. The man who did the thing was a friend of Bronson's, evidently, and in trying to get the papers we have the motive for thecrime. "

"There are still some things to be explained. " Mr. Hotchkiss wiped hisglasses and put them on. "For one thing, Mr. Blakeley, I am puzzled bythat bit of chain. "

I did not glance at McKnight. I felt that the hand, with which I wasgathering up the bits of torn paper were shaking. It seemed to me thatthis astute little man was going to drag in the girl in spite of me. 

CHAPTER XVIII. A NEW WORLD

Hotchkiss jotted down the bits of telegram and rose. 

"Well, " he said, "we've done something. We've found where the murdererleft the train, we know what day he went to Baltimore, and, mostimportant of all, we have a motive for the crime. "

"It seems the irony of fate, " said McKnight, getting up, "that aman should kill another man for certain papers he is supposed to becarrying, find he hasn't got them after all, decide to throw suspicionon another man by changing berths and getting out, bag and baggage, andthen, by the merest fluke of chance, take with him, in the valise hechanged for his own, the very notes he was after. It was a bit of luckfor him. "

"Then why, " put in Hotchkiss doubtfully, "why did he collapse when heheard of the wreck? And what about the telephone message the stationagent sent? You remember they tried to countermand it, and with someexcitement. "

"We will ask him those questions when we get him, " McKnight said. Wewere on the unrailed front porch by that time, and Hotchkiss had putaway his notebook. The mother of the twins followed us to the steps. 

"Dear me, " she exclaimed volubly, "and to think I was forgetting to tellyou! I put the young man to bed with a spice poultice on his ankle: mymother always was a firm believer in spice poultices. It's wonderfulwhat they will do in croup! And then I took the children and went downto see the wreck. It was Sunday, and the mister had gone to church;hasn't missed a day since he took the pledge nine years ago. And on theway I met two people, a man and a woman. They looked half dead, so Isent them right here for breakfast and some soap and water. I always saysoap is better than liquor after a shock. "

Hotchkiss was listening absently: McKnight was whistling under hisbreath, staring down across the field to where a break in the woodsshowed a half dozen telegraph poles, the line of the railroad. 

"It must have been twelve o'clock when we got back; I wanted thechildren to see everything, because it isn't likely they'll ever seeanother wreck like that. Rows of--"

"About twelve o'clock, " I broke in, "and what then?"

"The young man up-stairs was awake, " she went on, "and hammering at hisdoor like all possessed. And it was locked on the outside!" She pausedto enjoy her sensation. 

"I would like to see that lock, " Hotchkiss said promptly, but for somereason the woman demurred. 

"I will bring the key down, " she said and disappeared. When she returnedshe held out an ordinary door key of the cheapest variety. 

"We had to break the lock, " she volunteered, "and the key didn't turn upfor two days. Then one of the twins found the turkey gobbler trying toswallow it. It has been washed since, " she hastened to assure Hotchkiss, who showed an inclination to drop it. 

"You don't think he locked the door himself and threw the key out of thewindow?" the little man asked. 

"The windows are covered with mosquito netting, nailed on. The misterblamed it on the children, and it might have been Obadiah. He's thequiet kind, and you never know what he's about. "

"He's about to strangle, isn't he, " McKnight remarked lazily, "or isthat Obadiah?"

Mrs. Carter picked the boy up and inverted him, talking amiably all thetime. "He's always doing it, " she said, giving him a shake. "Whenever wemiss anything we look to see if Obadiah's black in the face. " She gavehim another shake, and the quarter I had given him shot out as if blownfrom a gun. Then we prepared to go back to the station. 

From where I stood I could look into the cheery farm kitchen, whereAlison West and I had eaten our al fresco breakfast. I looked at thetable with mixed emotions, and then, gradually, the meaning of somethingon it penetrated my mind. Still in its papers, evidently just opened, was a hat box, and protruding over the edge of the box was a streamer ofvivid green ribbon. 

On the plea that I wished to ask Mrs. Carter a few more questions, I letthe others go on. I watched them down the flagstone walk; saw McKnightstop and examine the gate-posts and saw, too, the quick glance he threwback at the house. Then I turned to Mrs. Carter. 

"I would like to speak to the young lady up-stairs, " I said. 

She threw up her hands with a quick gesture of surrender. "I've done allI could, " she exclaimed. "She won't like it very well, but--she's in theroom over the parlor. "

I went eagerly up the ladder-like stairs, to the rag-carpeted hall. Twodoors were open, showing interiors of four poster beds and high bureaus. The door of the room over the parlor was almost closed. I hesitatedin the hallway: after all, what right had I to intrude on her? But shesettled my difficulty by throwing open the door and facing me. 

"I--I beg your pardon, Miss West, " I stammered. "It has just occurredto me that I am unpardonably rude. I saw the hat down-stairs and I--Iguessed--"

"The hat!" she said. "I might have known. Does Richey know I am here?"

"I don't think so. " I turned to go down the stairs again. Then I halted. "The fact is, " I said, in an attempt at justification, "I'm in rathera mess these days, and I'm apt to do irresponsible things. It is notimpossible that I shall be arrested, in a day or so, for the murder ofSimon Harrington. "

She drew her breath in sharply. "Murder!" she echoed. "Then they havefound you after all!"

"I don't regard it as anything more than--er--inconvenient, " I lied. "They can't convict me, you know. Almost all the witnesses are dead. "

She was not deceived for a moment. She came over to me and stood, bothhands on the rail of the stair. "I know just how grave it is, " she saidquietly. "My grandfather will not leave one stone unturned, and he canbe terrible--terrible. But"--she looked directly into my eyes as I stoodbelow her on the stairs--"the time may come--soon--when I can help you. I'm afraid I shall not want to; I'm a dreadful coward, Mr. Blakeley. But--I will. " She tried to smile. 

"I wish you would let me help you, " I said unsteadily. "Let us make it abargain: each help the other!"

The girl shook her head with a sad little smile. "I am only as unhappyas I deserve to be, " she said. And when I protested and took a steptoward her she retreated, with her hands out before her. 

"Why don't you ask me all the questions you are thinking?" she demanded, with a catch in her voice. "Oh, I know them. Or are you afraid to ask?"

I looked at her, at the lines around her eyes, at the drawn look abouther mouth. Then I held out my hand. "Afraid!" I said, as she gave mehers. "There is nothing in God's green earth I am afraid of, save oftrouble for you. To ask questions would be to imply a lack of faith. Iask you nothing. Some day, perhaps, you will come to me yourself and letme help you. "

The next moment I was out in the golden sunshine: the birds were singingcarols of joy: I walked dizzily through rainbow-colored clouds, past thetwins, cherubs now, swinging on the gate. It was a new world into whichI stepped from the Carter farm-house that morning, for--I had kissedher!

CHAPTER XIX. AT THE TABLE NEXT

McKnight and Hotchkiss were sauntering slowly down the road as I caughtup with them. As usual, the little man was busy with some abstrusemental problem. 

"The idea is this, " he was saying, his brows knitted in thought, "ifa left-handed man, standing in the position of the man in the picture, should jump from a car, would he be likely to sprain his right ankle?When a right-handed man prepares for a leap of that kind, my theoryis that he would hold on with his right hand, and alight at the propertime, on his right foot. Of course--"

"I imagine, although I don't know, " interrupted McKnight, "that a maneither ambidextrous or one-armed, jumping from the Washington Flier, would be more likely to land on his head. "

"Anyhow, " I interposed, "what difference does it make whether Sullivanused one hand or the other? One pair of handcuffs will put both handsout of commission. "

As usual when one of his pet theories was attacked, Hotchkiss lookedaggrieved. 

"My dear sir, " he expostulated, "don't you understand what bearing thishas on the case? How was the murdered man lying when he was found?"

"On his back, " I said promptly, "head toward the engine. "

"Very well, " he retorted, "and what then? Your heart lies under yourfifth intercostal space, and to reach it a right-handed blow would havestruck either down or directly in. 

"But, gentleman, the point of entrance for the stiletto was below theheart, striking up! As Harrington lay with his head toward the engine, aperson in the aisle must have used the left hand. "

McKnight's eyes sought mine and he winked at me solemnly as Iunostentatiously transferred the hat I was carrying to my right hand. Long training has largely counterbalanced heredity in my case, but Istill pitch ball, play tennis and carve with my left hand. But Hotchkisswas too busy with his theories to notice me. 

We were only just in time for our train back to Baltimore, but McKnighttook advantage of a second's delay to shake the station agent warmly bythe hand. 

"I want to express my admiration for you, " he said beamingly. "Abilityof your order is thrown away here. You should have been a citypoliceman, my friend. "

The agent looked a trifle uncertain. 

"The young lady was the one who told me to keep still, " he said. 

McKnight glanced at me, gave the agent's hand a final shake, and climbedon board. But I knew perfectly that he had guessed the reason for mydelay. 

He was very silent on the way home. Hotchkiss, too, had little to say. He was reading over his notes intently, stopping now and then to make apenciled addition. Just before we left the train Richey turned to me. "Isuppose it was the key to the door that she tied to the gate?"

"Probably. I did not ask her. "

"Curious, her locking that fellow in, " he reflected. "You may depend onit, there was a good reason for it all. And I wish you wouldn't be sosuspicious of motives, Rich, " I said warmly. 

"Only yesterday you were the suspicious one, " he retorted, and we lapsedinto strained silence. 

It was late when we got to Washington. One of Mrs. Klopton's smalltyrannies was exacting punctuality at meals, and, like several otherthings, I respected it. There are always some concessions that should bemade in return for faithful service. 

So, as my dinner hour of seven was long past, McKnight and I went to alittle restaurant down town where they have a very decent way of fixingchicken a la King. Hotchkiss had departed, economically bent, for asmall hotel where he lived on the American plan. 

"I want to think some things over, " he said in response to my invitationto dinner, "and, anyhow, there's no use dining out when I pay the same, dinner or no dinner, where I am stopping. "

The day had been hot, and the first floor dining-room was sultry inspite of the palms and fans which attempted to simulate the verdure andbreezes of the country. 

It was crowded, too, with a typical summer night crowd, and, aftersitting for a few minutes in a sweltering corner, we got up and wentto the smaller dining-room up-stairs. Here it was not so warm, and wesettled ourselves comfortably by a window. 

Over in a corner half a dozen boys on their way back to school wereragging a perspiring waiter, a proceeding so exactly to McKnight's tastethat he insisted on going over to join them. But their table was full, and somehow that kind of fun had lost its point for me. 

Not far from us a very stout, middle-aged man, apoplectic with the heat, was elephantinely jolly for the benefit of a bored-looking girl acrossthe table from him, and at the next table a newspaper woman ate alone, the last edition propped against the water-bottle before her, her hat, for coolness, on the corner of the table. It was a motley Bohemiancrowd. 

I looked over the room casually, while McKnight ordered the meal. Thenmy attention was attracted to the table next to ours. Two people weresitting there, so deep in conversation that they did not notice us. Thewoman's face was hidden under her hat, as she traced the pattern of thecloth mechanically with her fork. But the man's features stood out clearin the light of the candles on the table. It was Bronson!

"He shows the strain, doesn't he?" McKnight said, holding up the winelist as if he read from it. "Who's the woman?"

"Search me, " I replied, in the same way. 

When the chicken came, I still found myself gazing now and then at theabstracted couple near me. Evidently the subject of conversation wasunpleasant. Bronson was eating little, the woman not at all. Finally hegot up, pushed his chair back noisily, thrust a bill at the waiter andstalked out. 

The woman sat still for a moment; then, with an apparent resolution tomake the best of it, she began slowly to eat the meal before her. 

But the quarrel had taken away her appetite, for the mixture in ourchafing-dish was hardly ready to serve before she pushed her chair backa little and looked around the room. 

I caught my first glimpse of her face then, and I confess it startledme. It was the tall, stately woman of the Ontario, the woman I hadlast seen cowering beside the road, rolling pebbles in her hand, bloodstreaming from a cut over her eye. I could see the scar now, a littleaffair, about an inch long, gleaming red through its layers of powder. 

And then, quite unexpectedly, she turned and looked directly at me. After a minute's uncertainty, she bowed, letting her eyes rest on minewith a calmly insolent stare. She glanced at McKnight for a moment, thenback to me. When she looked away again I breathed easier. 

"Who is it?" asked McKnight under his breath. 

"Ontario. " I formed it with my lips rather than said it. McKnight'seyebrows went up and he looked with increased interest at theblack-gowned figure. 

I ate little after that. The situation was rather bad for me, I began tosee. Here was a woman who could, if she wished, and had any motive forso doing, put me in jail under a capital charge. A word from her to thepolice, and polite surveillance would become active interference. 

Then, too, she could say that she had seen me, just after the wreck, with a young woman from the murdered man's car, and thus probably bringAlison West into the case. 

It is not surprising, then, that I ate little. The woman across seemedin no hurry to go. She loitered over a demi-tasse, and that finished, sat with her elbow on the table, her chin in her hand, looking darkly atthe changing groups in the room. 

The fun at the table where the college boys sat began to grow a littlenoisy; the fat man, now a purplish shade, ambled away behind his slimcompanion; the newspaper woman pinned on her business-like hat andstalked out. Still the woman at the next table waited. 

It was a relief when the meal was over. We got our hats and were aboutto leave the room, when a waiter touched me on the arm. 

"I beg your pardon, sir, " he said, "but the lady at the table near thewindow, the lady in black, sir, would like to speak to you. "

I looked down between the rows of tables to where the woman sat alone, her chin still resting on her hand, her black eyes still insolentlystaring, this time at me. 

"I'll have to go, " I said to McKnight hurriedly. "She knows all aboutthat affair and she'd be a bad enemy. "

"I don't like her lamps, " McKnight observed, after a glance at her. "Better jolly her a little. Good-by. "

CHAPTER XX. THE NOTES AND A BARGAIN

I went back slowly to where the woman sat alone. 

She smiled rather oddly as I drew near, and pointed to the chair Bronsonhad vacated. 

"Sit down, Mr. Blakeley, " she said, "I am going to take a few minutes ofyour valuable time. "

"Certainly. " I sat down opposite her and glanced at a cuckoo clock onthe wall. "I am sorry, but I have only a few minutes. If you--" Shelaughed a little, not very pleasantly, and opening a small black fancovered with spangles, waved it slowly. 

"The fact is, " she said, "I think we are about to make a bargain. "

"A bargain?" I asked incredulously. "You have a second advantage of me. You know my name"--I paused suggestively and she took the cue. 

"I am Mrs. Conway, " she said, and flicked a crumb off the table with anover-manicured finger. 

The name was scarcely a surprise. I had already surmised that this mightbe the woman whom rumor credited as being Bronson's common-law wife. Rumor, I remembered, had said other things even less pleasant, thingswhich had been brought out at Bronson's arrest for forgery. 

"We met last under less fortunate circumstances, " she was saying. "Ihave been fit for nothing since that terrible day. And you--you had abroken arm, I think. "

"I still have it, " I said, with a lame attempt at jocularity; "but tohave escaped at all was a miracle. We have much, indeed, to be thankfulfor. "

"I suppose we have, " she said carelessly, "although sometimes I doubtit. " She was looking somberly toward the door through which her latecompanion had made his exit. 

"You sent for me--" I said. 

"Yes, I sent for you. " She roused herself and sat erect. "Now, Mr. Blakeley, have you found those papers?"

"The papers? What papers?" I parried. I needed time to think. 

"Mr. Blakeley, " she said quietly, "I think we can lay aside allsubterfuge. In the first place let me refresh your mind about a fewthings. The Pittsburg police are looking for the survivors of the carOntario; there are three that I know of--yourself, the young woman withwhom you left the scene of the wreck, and myself. The wreck, you willadmit, was a fortunate one for you. "

I nodded without speaking. 

"At the time of the collision you were in rather a hole, " she wenton, looking at me with a disagreeable smile. "You were, if I remember, accused of a rather atrocious crime. There was a lot of corroborativeevidence, was there not? I seem to remember a dirk and the murderedman's pocket-book in your possession, and a few other things thatwere--well, rather unpleasant. "

I was thrown a bit off my guard. 

"You remember also, " I said quickly, "that a man disappeared from thecar, taking my clothes, papers and everything. "

"I remember that you said so. " Her tone was quietly insulting, and I bitmy lip at having been caught. It was no time to make a defense. 

"You have missed one calculation, " I said coldly, "and that is, thediscovery of the man who left the train. "

"You have found him?" She bent forward, and again I regretted my hastyspeech. "I knew it; I said so. "

"We are going to find him, " I asserted, with a confidence I did notfeel. "We can produce at any time proof that a man left the Flier a fewmiles beyond the wreck. And we can find him, I am positive. "

"But you have not found him yet?" She was clearly disappointed. "Well, so be it. Now for our bargain. You will admit that I am no fool. "

I made no such admission, and she smiled mockingly. 

"How flattering you are!" she said. "Very well. Now for the premises. You take to Pittsburg four notes held by the Mechanics' National Bank, to have Mr. Gilmore, who is ill, declare his indorsement of them forged. 

"On the journey back to Pittsburg two things happen to you: you loseyour clothing, your valise and your papers, including the notes, andyou are accused of murder. In fact, Mr. Blakeley, the circumstances weremost singular, and the evidence--well, almost conclusive. "

I was completely at her mercy, but I gnawed my lip with irritation. 

"Now for the bargain. " She leaned over and lowered her voice. "A fairexchange, you know. The minute you put those four notes in my hand--thatminute the blow to my head has caused complete forgetfulness as tothe events of that awful morning. I am the only witness, and I will besilent. Do you understand? They will call off their dogs. "

My head was buzzing with the strangeness of the idea. 

"But, " I said, striving to gain time, "I haven't the notes. I can't giveyou what I haven't got. "

"You have had the case continued, " she said sharply. "You expect to findthem. Another thing, " she added slowly, watching my face, "if you don'tget them soon, Bronson will have them. They have been offered to himalready, but at a prohibitive price. "

"But, " I said, bewildered, "what is your object in coming to me? IfBronson will get them anyhow--"

She shut her fan with a click and her face was not particularly pleasantto look at. 

"You are dense, " she said insolently. "I want those papers--for myself, not for Andy Bronson. "

"Then the idea is, " I said, ignoring her tone, "that you think you haveme in a hole, and that if I find those papers and give them to you youwill let me out. As I understand it, our friend Bronson, under thosecircumstances, will also be in a hole. "

She nodded. 

"The notes would be of no use to you for a limited length of time, "I went on, watching her narrowly. "If they are not turned over to thestate's attorney within a reasonable time there will have to be a nollepros--that is, the case will simply be dropped for lack of evidence. "

"A week would answer, I think, " she said slowly. "You will do it, then?"

I laughed, although I was not especially cheerful. 

"No, I'll not do it. I expect to come across the notes any time now, and I expect just as certainly to turn them over to the state's attorneywhen I get them. "

She got up suddenly, pushing her chair back with a noisy grating soundthat turned many eyes toward us. 

"You're more of a fool than I thought you, " she sneered, and left me atthe table. 

CHAPTER XXI. Mc KNIGHT'S THEORY

I confess I was staggered. The people at the surrounding tables, afterglancing curiously in my direction, looked away again. 

I got my hat and went out in a very uncomfortable frame of mind. Thatshe would inform the police at once of what she knew I never doubted, unless possibly she would give a day or two's grace in the hope that Iwould change my mind. 

I reviewed the situation as I waited for a car. Two passed me going inthe opposite direction, and on the first one I saw Bronson, his hat overhis eyes, his arms folded, looking moodily ahead. Was it imagination? orwas the small man huddled in the corner of the rear seat Hotchkiss?

As the car rolled on I found myself smiling. The alert little man wasfor all the world like a terrier, ever on the scent, and scouring aboutin every direction. 

I found McKnight at the Incubator, with his coat off, working withenthusiasm and a manicure file over the horn of his auto. 

"It's the worst horn I ever ran across, " he groaned, without looking up, as I came in. "The blankety-blank thing won't blow. "

He punched it savagely, finally eliciting a faint throaty croak. 

"Sounds like croup, " I suggested. "My sister-in-law uses camphor andgoose greese for it; or how about a spice poultice?"

But McKnight never sees any jokes but his own. He flung the hornclattering into a corner, and collapsed sulkily into a chair. 

"Now, " I said, "if you're through manicuring that horn, I'll tell youabout my talk with the lady in black. "

"What's wrong?" asked McKnight languidly. "Police watching her, too?"

"Not exactly. The fact is, Rich, there's the mischief to pay. "

Stogie came in, bringing a few additions to our comfort. When he wentout I told my story. 

"You must remember, " I said, "that I had seen this woman before themorning of the wreck. She was buying her Pullman ticket when I did. Thenthe next morning, when the murder was discovered, she grew hysterical, and I gave her some whisky. The third and last time I saw her, untilto-night, was when she crouched beside the road, after the wreck. "

McKnight slid down in his chair until his weight rested on the small ofhis back, and put his feet on the big reading table. 

"It is rather a facer, " he said. "It's really too good a situation fora commonplace lawyer. It ought to be dramatized. You can't agree, ofcourse; and by refusing you run the chance of jail, at least, and ofhaving Alison brought into publicity, which is out of the question. Yousay she was at the Pullman window when you were?"

"Yes; I bought her ticket for her. Gave her lower eleven. "

"And you took ten?"

"Lower ten. "

McKnight straightened up and looked at me. 

"Then she thought you were in lower ten. "

"I suppose she did, if she thought at all. "

"But listen, man. " McKnight was growing excited. "What do you figure outof this? The Conway woman knows you have taken the notes to Pittsburg. The probabilities are that she follows you there, on the chance of anopportunity to get them, either for Bronson or herself. 

"Nothing doing during the trip over or during the day in Pittsburg; butshe learns the number of your berth as you buy it at the Pullman ticketoffice in Pittsburg, and she thinks she sees her chance. No one couldhave foreseen that that drunken fellow would have crawled into yourberth. 

"Now, I figure it out this way: She wanted those notes desperately--doesstill--not for Bronson, but to hold over his head for some purpose. Inthe night, when everything is quiet, she slips behind the curtains oflower ten, where the man's breathing shows he is asleep. Didn't you sayhe snored?"

"He did!" I affirmed. "But I tell you--"

"Now keep still and listen. She gropes cautiously around in thedarkness, finally discovering the wallet under the pillow. Can't you seeit yourself?"

He was leaning forward, excitedly, and I could almost see the gruesometragedy he was depicting. 

"She draws out the wallet. Then, perhaps she remembers the alligatorbag, and on the possibility that the notes are there, instead of inthe pocket-book, she gropes around for it. Suddenly, the man awakes andclutches at the nearest object, perhaps her neck chain, which breaks. She drops the pocket-book and tries to escape, but he has caught herright hand. 

"It is all in silence; the man is still stupidly drunk. But he holds herin a tight grip. Then the tragedy. She must get away; in a minutethe car will be aroused. Such a woman, on such an errand, does not gowithout some sort of a weapon, in this case a dagger, which, unlike arevolver, is noiseless. 

"With a quick thrust--she's a big woman and a bold one--she strikes. Possibly Hotchkiss is right about the left-hand blow. Harrington mayhave held her right hand, or perhaps she held the dirk in her left handas she groped with her right. Then, as the man falls back, and his grasprelaxes, she straightens and attempts to get away. The swaying of thecar throws her almost into your berth, and, trembling with terror, shecrouches behind the curtains of lower ten until everything is still. Then she goes noiselessly back to her berth. "

I nodded. 

"It seems to fit partly, at least, " I said. "In the morning when shefound that the crime had been not only fruitless, but that she hadsearched the wrong berth and killed the wrong man; when she saw meemerge, unhurt, just as she was bracing herself for the discovery of mydead body, then she went into hysterics. You remember, I gave her somewhisky. 

"It really seems a tenable theory. But, like the Sullivan theory, thereare one or two things that don't agree with the rest. For one thing, howdid the remainder of that chain get into Alison West's possession?"

"She may have picked it up on the floor. "

"We'll admit that, " I said; "and I'm sure I hope so. Then how did themurdered man's pocket-book get into the sealskin bag? And the dirk, howaccount for that, and the blood-stains?"

"Now what's the use, " asked McKnight aggrievedly, "of my building upbeautiful theories for you to pull down? We'll take it to Hotchkiss. Maybe he can tell from the blood-stains if the murderer's finger nailswere square or pointed. "

"Hotchkiss is no fool, " I said warmly. "Under all his theories there'sa good hard layer of common sense. And we must remember, Rich, thatneither of our theories includes the woman at Doctor Van Kirk'shospital, that the charming picture you have just drawn does not accountfor Alison West's connection with the case, or for the bits of telegramin the Sullivan fellow's pajamas pocket. You are like the man who putthe clock together; you've got half of the works left over. "

"Oh, go home, " said McKnight disgustedly. "I'm no Edgar Allan Poe. What's the use of coming here and asking me things if you're soparticular?"

With one of his quick changes of mood, he picked up his guitar. 

"Listen to this, " he said. "It is a Hawaiian song about a fat lady, oh, ignorant one! and how she fell off her mule. "

But for all the lightness of the words, the voice that followed me downthe stairs was anything but cheery. 

 "There was a Kanaka in Balu did dwell, Who had for his daughter a monstrous fat girl--

he sang in his clear tenor. I paused on the lower floor and listened. Hehad stopped singing as abruptly as he had begun. 

CHAPTER XXII. AT THE BOARDING-HOUSE

I had not been home for thirty-six hours, since the morning of thepreceding day. Johnson was not in sight, and I let myself in quietlywith my latchkey. It was almost midnight, and I had hardly settledmyself in the library when the bell rang and I was surprised to findHotchkiss, much out of breath, in the vestibule. 

"Why, come in, Mr. Hotchkiss, " I said. "I thought you were going home togo to bed. "

"So I was, so I was. " He dropped into a chair beside my reading lamp andmopped his face. "And here it is almost midnight, and I'm wider awakethan ever. I've seen Sullivan, Mr. Blakeley. "

"You have!"

"I have, " he said impressively. 

"You were following Bronson at eight o'clock. Was that when ithappened?"

"Something of the sort. When I left you at the door of the restaurant, Iturned and almost ran into a plain clothes man from the central office. I know him pretty well; once or twice he has taken me with him oninteresting bits of work. He knows my hobby. "

"You know him, too, probably. It was the man Arnold, the detective whomthe state's attorney has had watching Bronson. "

Johnson being otherwise occupied, I had asked for Arnold myself. 

I nodded. 

"Well, he stopped me at once; said he'd been on the fellow's trackssince early morning and had had no time for luncheon. Bronson, it seems, isn't eating much these days. I at once jotted down the fact, because itargued that he was being bothered by the man with the notes. "

"It might point to other things, " I suggested. "Indigestion, you know. "

Hotchkiss ignored me. "Well, Arnold had some reason for thinking thatBronson would try to give him the slip that night, so he asked me tostay around the private entrance there while he ran across the Streetand got something to eat. It seemed a fair presumption that, as he hadgone there with a lady, they would dine leisurely, and Arnold would haveplenty of time to get back. "

"What about your own dinner?" I asked curiously. 

"Sir, " he said pompously, "I have given you a wrong estimate of WilsonBudd Hotchkiss if you think that a question of dinner would even obtrudeitself on his mind at such a time as this. "

He was a frail little man, and to-night he looked pale with heat andover-exertion. 

"Did you have any luncheon?" I asked. 

He was somewhat embarrassed at that. 

"I--really, Mr. Blakeley, the events of the day were so engrossing--"

"Well, " I said, "I'm not going to see you drop on the floor fromexhaustion. Just wait a minute. "

I went back to the pantry, only to be confronted with rows of lockeddoors and empty dishes. Downstairs, in the basement kitchen, however, Ifound two unattractive looking cold chops, some dry bread and a pieceof cake, wrapped in a napkin, and from its surreptitious and generallyhang-dog appearance, destined for the coachman in the stable at therear. Trays there were none--everything but the chairs and tables seemedunder lock and key, and there was neither napkin, knife nor fork to befound. 

The luncheon was not attractive in appearance, but Hotchkiss ate hiscold chops and gnawed at the crusts as though he had been famished, while he told his story. 

"I had been there only a few minutes, " he said, with a chop in one handand the cake in the other, "when Bronson rushed out and cut across thestreet. He's a tall man, Mr. Blakeley, and I had had work keeping close. It was a relief when he jumped on a passing car, although being wellbehind, it was a hard run for me to catch him. He had left the lady. 

"Once on the car, we simply rode from one end of the line to the otherand back again. I suppose he was passing the time, for he looked at hiswatch now and then, and when I did once get a look at us face it mademe--er--uncomfortable. He could have crushed me like a fly, sir. "

I had brought Mr. Hotchkiss a glass of wine, and he was looking better. He stopped to finish it, declining with a wave of his hand to have itrefilled, and continued:

"About nine o'clock or a little later he got off somewhere nearWashington Circle. He went along one of the residence streets there, turned to his left a square or two, and rang a bell. He had beenadmitted when I got there, but I guessed from the appearance of theplace that it was a boarding-house. 

"I waited a few minutes and rang the bell. When a maid answered it, Iasked for Mr. Sullivan. Of course there was no Mr. Sullivan there. 

"I said I was sorry; that the man I was looking for was a new boarder. She was sure there was no such boarder in the house; the only newarrival was a man on the third floor--she thought his name was Stuart. 

"'My friend has a cousin by that name, ' I said. 'I'll just go up andsee. '

"She wanted to show me up, but I said it was unnecessary. So aftertelling me it was the bedroom and sitting-room on the third floor front, I went up. 

"I met a couple of men on the stairs, but neither of them paid anyattention to me. A boarding-house is the easiest place in the world toenter. "

"They're not always so easy to leave, " I put in, to his evidentirritation. 

"When I got to the third story, I took out a bunch of keys and postedmyself by a door near the ones the girl had indicated. I could hearvoices in one of the front rooms, but could not understand what theysaid. 

"There was no violent dispute, but a steady hum. Then Bronson jerked thedoor open. If he had stepped into the hall he would have seen me fittinga key into the door before me. But he spoke before he came out. 

"'You're acting like a maniac, ' he said. 'You know I can get thosethings some way; I'm not going to threaten you. It isn't necessary. Youknow me. '

"'It would be no use, ' the other man said. 'I tell you, I haven't seenthe notes for ten days. '

"'But you will, ' Bronson said savagely. 'You're standing in your ownway, that's all. If you're holding out expecting me to raise my figure, you're making a mistake. It's my last offer. '

"'I couldn't take it if it was for a million, ' said the man inside theroom. 'I'd do it, I expect, if I could. The best of us have our price. '

"Bronson slammed the door then, and flung past me down the hall. 

"After a couple of minutes I knocked at the door, and a tall man aboutyour size, Mr. Blakeley, opened it. He was very blond, with a smoothface and blue eyes--what I think you would call a handsome man. 

"'I beg your pardon for disturbing you, ' I said. 'Can you tell me whichis Mr. Johnson's room? Mr. Francis Johnson?'

"'I can not say, ' he replied civilly. 'I've only been here a few days. '

"I thanked him and left, but I had had a good look at him, and I thinkI'd know him readily any place. "

I sat for a few minutes thinking it over. "But what did he mean bysaying he hadn't seen the notes for ten days? And why is Bronson makingthe overtures?"

"I think he was lying, " Hotchkiss reflected. "Bronson hasn't reached hisfigure. "

"It's a big advance, Mr. Hotchkiss, and I appreciate what you have donemore than I can tell you, " I said. "And now, if you can locate any ofmy property in this fellow's room, we'll send him up for larceny, and atleast have him where we can get at him. I'm going to Cresson to-morrow, to try to trace him a little from there. But I'll be back in a couple ofdays, and we'll begin to gather in these scattered threads. "

Hotchkiss rubbed his hands together delightedly. 

"That's it, " he said. "That's what we want to do, Mr. Blakeley. We'llgather up the threads ourselves; if we let the police in too soon, they'll tangle it up again. I'm not vindictive by nature; but when afellow like Sullivan not only commits a murder, but goes to all sortsof trouble to put the burden of guilt on an innocent man--I say hunt himdown, sir!"

"You are convinced, of course, that Sullivan did it?"

"Who else?" He looked over his glasses at me with the air of a man whosemental attitude is unassailable. "Well, listen to this, " I said. 

Then I told him at length of my encounter with Bronson in therestaurant, of the bargain proposed by Mrs. Conway, and finally ofMcKnight's new theory. But, although he was impressed, he was far fromconvinced. 

"It's a very vivid piece of imagination, " he said drily; "but while itfits the evidence as far as it goes, it doesn't go far enough. How aboutthe stains in lower seven, the dirk, and the wallet? Haven't we even gotmotive in that telegram from Bronson?"

"Yes, " I admitted, "but that bit of chain--"

"Pooh, " he said shortly. "Perhaps, like yourself, Sullivan wore glasseswith a chain. Our not finding them does not prove they did not exist. "

And there I made an error; half confidences are always mistakes. I couldnot tell of the broken chain in Alison West's gold purse. 

It was one o'clock when Hotchkiss finally left. We had by that timearranged a definite course of action--Hotchkiss to search Sullivan'srooms and if possible find evidence to have him held for larceny, whileI went to Cresson. 

Strangely enough, however, when I entered the train the followingmorning, Hotchkiss was already there. He had bought a new note-book, andwas sharpening a fresh pencil. 

"I changed my plans, you see, " he said, bustling his newspaper aside forme. "It is no discredit to your intelligence, Mr. Blakeley, but you lackthe professional eye, the analytical mind. You legal gentlemen call aspade a spade, although it may be a shovel. "

 "'A primrose by the river's brim A yellow primrose was to him, And nothing more!'"

I quoted as the train pulled out. 

CHAPTER XXIII. A NIGHT AT THE LAURELS

I slept most of the way to Cresson, to the disgust of the littledetective. Finally he struck up an acquaintance with a kindly-faced oldpriest on his way home to his convent school, armed with a roll of dancemusic and surreptitious bundles that looked like boxes of candy. From scraps of conversation I gleaned that there had been mysteriousoccurrences at the convent, --ending in the theft of what the reverendfather called vaguely, "a quantity of undermuslins. " I dropped asleep atthat point, and when I roused a few moments later, the conversation hadprogressed. Hotchkiss had a diagram on an envelope. 

"With this window bolted, and that one inaccessible, and if, as you say, the--er--garments were in a tub here at X, then, as you hold the keyto the other door, --I think you said the convent dog did not raise anydisturbance? Pardon a personal question, but do you ever walk in yoursleep?"

The priest looked bewildered. 

"I'll tell you what to do, " Hotchkiss said cheerfully, leaningforward, "look around a little yourself before you call in the police. Somnambulism is a queer thing. It's a question whether we are mostourselves sleeping or waking. Ever think of that? Live a saintly lifeall day, prayers and matins and all that, and the subconscious mindhikes you out of bed at night to steal undermuslins! Subliminal theft, so to speak. Better examine the roof. "

I dozed again. When I wakened Hotchkiss sat alone, and the priest, froma corner, was staring at him dazedly, over his breviary. 

It was raining when we reached Cresson, a wind-driven rain that hadforced the agent at the newsstand to close himself in, and that beatback from the rails in parallel lines of white spray. As he went up themain street, Hotchkiss was cheerfully oblivious of the weather, ofthe threatening dusk, of our generally draggled condition. My draggledcondition, I should say, for he improved every moment, --his eyesbrighter, his ruddy face ruddier, his collar newer and glossier. Sometime, when it does not encircle the little man's neck, I shall testthat collar with a match. 

I was growing steadily more depressed: I loathed my errand and itsnecessity. I had always held that a man who played the spy on a womanwas beneath contempt. Then, I admit I was afraid of what I might learn. For a time, however, this promised to be a negligible quantity. Thestreets of the straggling little mountain town had been clean-washed ofhumanity by the downpour. Windows and doors were inhospitably shut, andfrom around an occasional drawn shade came narrow strips of light thatmerely emphasized our gloom. When Hotchkiss' umbrella turned inside out, I stopped. 

"I don't know where you are going, " I snarled, "I don't care. But I'mgoing to get under cover inside of ten seconds. I'm not amphibious. "

I ducked into the next shelter, which happened to be the yawningentrance to a livery stable, and shook myself, dog fashion. Hotchkisswiped his collar with his handkerchief. It emerged gleaming andunwilted. 

"This will do as well as any place, " he said, raising his voice abovethe rattle of the rain. "Got to make a beginning. "

I sat down on the usual chair without a back, just inside the door, and stared out at the darkening street. The whole affair had an air ofunreality. Now that I was there, I doubted the necessity, or the value, of the journey. I was wet and uncomfortable. Around me, with Cressonas a center, stretched an irregular circumference of mountain, withpossibly a ten-mile radius, and in it I was to find the residence of awoman whose first name I did not know, and a man who, so far, had been apurely chimerical person. 

Hotchkiss had penetrated the steaming interior of the cave, and now hisvoice, punctuated by the occasional thud of horses' hoofs, came to me. 

"Something light will do, " he was saying. "A runabout, perhaps. " He cameforward rubbing his hands, followed by a thin man in overalls. "Mr. Pecksays, " he began, --"this is Mr. Peck of Peck and Peck, --says that theplace we are looking for is about seven miles from the town. It'sclearing, isn't it?"

"It is not, " I returned savagely. "And we don't want a runabout, Mr. Peck. What we require is hermetically sealed diving suit. I supposethere isn't a machine to be had?" Mr. Peck gazed at me, in silence:machine to him meant other things than motors. "Automobile, " Isupplemented. His face cleared. 

"None but private affairs. I can give you a good buggy with a rubberapron. Mike, is the doctor's horse in?"

I am still uncertain as to whether the raw-boned roan we took out thatnight over the mountains was the doctor's horse or not. If it was, thedoctor may be a good doctor, but he doesn't know anything about a horse. And furthermore, I hope he didn't need the beast that miserable evening. 

While they harnessed the horse, Hotchkiss told me what he had learned. 

"Six Curtises in the town and vicinity, " he said. "Sort of family namearound here. One of them is telegraph operator at the station. Person weare looking for is--was--a wealthy widow with a brother named Sullivan!Both supposed to have been killed on the Flier. "

"Her brother, " I repeated stupidly. 

"You see, " Hotchkiss went on, "three people, in one party, took thetrain here that night, Miss West, Mrs. Curtis and Sullivan. The twowomen had the drawing-room, Sullivan had lower seven. What we want tofind out is just who these people were, where they came from, if Bronsonknew them, and how Miss West became entangled with them. She may havemarried Sullivan, for one thing. "

I fell into gloom after that. The roan was led unwillingly into theweather, Hotchkiss and I in eclipse behind the blanket. The liverymanstood in the doorway and called directions to us. "You can't miss it, "he finished. "Got the name over the gate anyhow, 'The Laurels. ' Theservants are still there: leastways, we didn't bring them down. " He eventook a step into the rain as Hotchkiss picked up the lines. "If you'regoing to settle the estate, " he bawled, "don't forget us, Peck and Peck. A half-bushel of name and a bushel of service. "

Hotchkiss could not drive. Born a clerk, he guided the roan much ashe would drive a bad pen. And the roan spattered through puddles andsplashed ink--mud, that is--until I was in a frenzy of irritation. 

"What are we going to say when we get there?" I asked after I hadfinally taken the reins in my one useful hand. "Get out there atmidnight and tell the servants we have come to ask a few questions aboutthe family? It's an idiotic trip anyhow; I wish I had stayed at home. "

The roan fell just then, and we had to crawl out and help him up. By thetime we had partly unharnessed him our matches were gone, and the smallbicycle lamp on the buggy was wavering only too certainly. We werecovered with mud, panting with exertion, and even Hotchkiss showed adisposition to be surly. The rain, which had lessened for a time, cameon again, the lightning flashes doing more than anything else to revealour isolated position. 

Another mile saw us, if possible, more despondent. The water in ourclothes had had time to penetrate: the roan had sprained his shoulder, and drew us along in a series of convulsive jerks. And then throughthe rain-spattered window of the blanket, I saw a light. It was a smalllight, rather yellow, and it lasted perhaps thirty seconds. Hotchkissmissed it, and was inclined to doubt me. But in a couple of minutes theroan hobbled to the side of the road and stopped, and I made out a breakin the pines and an arched gate. 

It was a small gate, too narrow for the buggy. I pulled the horse intoas much shelter as possible under the trees, and we got out. Hotchkisstied the beast and we left him there, head down against the drivingrain, drooping and dejected. Then we went toward the house. 

It was a long walk. The path bent and twisted, and now and then welost it. We were climbing as we went. Oddly there were no lights ahead, although it was only ten o'clock, --not later. Hotchkiss kept a littleahead of me, knocking into trees now and then, but finding the path inhalf the time I should have taken. Once, as I felt my way around a treein the blackness, I put my hand unexpectedly on his shoulder, and felt ashudder go down my back. 

"What do you expect me to do?" he protested, when I remonstrated. "Hangout a red lantern? What was that? Listen. "

We both stood peering into the gloom. The sharp patter of the rainon leaves had ceased, and from just ahead there came back to us thestealthy padding of feet in wet soil. My hand closed on Hotchkiss'shoulder, and we listened together, warily. The steps were close by, unmistakable. The next flash of lightning showed nothing moving: thehouse was in full view now, dark and uninviting, looming huge above aterrace, with an Italian garden at the side. Then the blackness again. Somebody's teeth were chattering: I accused Hotchkiss but he denied it. 

"Although I'm not very comfortable, I'll admit, " he confessed; "therewas something breathing right at my elbow here a moment ago. "

"Nonsense!" I took his elbow and steered him in what I made out to bethe direction of the steps of the Italian garden. "I saw a deer justahead by the last flash; that's what you heard. By Jove, I hear wheels. "

We paused to listen and Hotchkiss put his hand on something close to us. "Here's your deer, " he said. "Bronze. "

As we neared the house the sense of surveillance we had had in thepark gradually left us. Stumbling over flower beds, running afoul ofa sun-dial, groping our way savagely along hedges and thorny banks, wereached the steps finally and climbed the terrace. 

It was then that Hotchkiss fell over one of the two stone urns which, with tall boxwood trees in them, mounted guard at each side of the door. He didn't make any attempt to get up. He sat in a puddle on the brickfloor of the terrace and clutched his leg and swore softly in GovernmentEnglish. 

The occasional relief of the lightning was gone. I could not see anoutline of the house before me. We had no matches, and an instant'sinvestigation showed that the windows were boarded and the house closed. Hotchkiss, still recumbent, was ascertaining the damage, tenderlypeeling down his stocking. 

"Upon my soul, " he said finally, "I don't know whether this moisture isblood or rain. I think I've broken a bone. "

"Blood is thicker than water, " I suggested. "Is it sticky? See if youcan move your toes. "

There was a pause: Hotchkiss moved his toes. By that time I had found aknocker and was making the night hideous. But there was no response savethe wind that blew sodden leaves derisively in our faces. Once Hotchkissdeclared he heard a window-sash lifted, but renewed violence with theknocker produced no effect. 

"There's only one thing to do, " I said finally. "I'll go back and try tobring the buggy up for you. You can't walk, can you?"

Hotchkiss sat back in his puddle and said he didn't think he could stir, but for me to go back to town and leave him, that he didn't have anyfamily dependent on him, and that if he was going to have pneumonia hehad probably got it already. I left him there, and started back to getthe horse. 

If possible, it was worse than before. There was no lightning, and onlyby a miracle did I find the little gate again. I drew a long breath ofrelief, followed by another, equally long, of dismay. For I had foundthe hitching strap and there was nothing at the end of it! In a lull ofthe wind I seemed to hear, far off, the eager thud of stable-bound feet. So for the second time I climbed the slope to the Laurels, and on theway I thought of many things to say. 

I struck the house at a new angle, for I found a veranda, destitute ofchairs and furnishings, but dry and evidently roofed. It was better thanthe terrace, and so, by groping along the wall, I tried to make my wayto Hotchkiss. That was how I found the open window. I had passed perhapssix, all closed, and to have my hand grope for the next one, and to findinstead the soft drapery of an inner curtain, was startling, to say theleast. 

I found Hotchkiss at last around an angle of the stone wall, and toldhim that the horse was gone. He was disconcerted, but not abased;maintaining that it was a new kind of knot that couldn't slip and thatthe horse must have chewed the halter through! He was less enthusiasticthan I had expected about the window. 

"It looks uncommonly like a trap, " he said. "I tell you there was someone in the park below when we were coming up. Man has a sixth sense thatscientists ignore--a sense of the nearness of things. And all the timeyou have been gone, some one has been watching me. "

"Couldn't see you, " I maintained; "I can't see you now. And your senseof contiguity didn't tell you about that flower crock. "

In the end, of course, he consented to go with me. He was very lame, andI helped him around to the open window. He was full of moral courage, the little man: it was only the physical in him that quailed. And as wegroped along, he insisted on going through the window first. 

"If it is a trap, " he whispered, "I have two arms to your one, and, besides, as I said before, life holds much for you. As for me, thegovernment would merely lose an indifferent employee. "

When he found I was going first he was rather hurt, but I did not waitfor his protests. I swung my feet over the sill and dropped. I made aclutch at the window-frame with my good hand when I found no floor undermy feet, but I was too late. I dropped probably ten feet and landed witha crash that seemed to split my ear-drums. I was thoroughly shaken, butin some miraculous way the bandaged arm had escaped injury. 

"For Heaven's sake, " Hotchkiss was calling from above, "have you brokenyour back?"

"No, " I returned, as steadily as I could, "merely driven it up throughmy skull. This is a staircase. I'm coming up to open another window. "

It was eerie work, but I accomplished it finally, discovering, notwithout mishap, a room filled with more tables than I had ever dreamedof, tables that seemed to waylay and strike at me. When I had gota window open, Hotchkiss crawled through, and we were at last undershelter. 

Our first thought was for a light. The same laborious investigationthat had landed us where we were, revealed that the house was lightedby electricity, and that the plant was not in operation. By accidentI stumbled across a tabouret with smoking materials, and found a halfdozen matches. The first one showed us the magnitude of the room westood in, and revealed also a brass candle-stick by the open fireplace, a candle-stick almost four feet high, supporting a candle of similarcolossal proportions. It was Hotchkiss who discovered that it had beenrecently lighted. He held the match to it and peered at it over hisglasses. 

"Within ten minutes, " he announced impressively, "this candle has beenburning. Look at the wax! And the wick! Both soft. "

"Perhaps it's the damp weather, " I ventured, moving a little nearer tothe circle of light. A gust of wind came in just then, and the flameturned over on its side and threatened demise. There was somethingalmost ridiculous in the haste with which we put down the window andnursed the flicker to life. 

The peculiarly ghost-like appearance of the room added to theuncanniness of the situation. The furniture was swathed in white coversfor the winter; even the pictures wore shrouds. And in a niche betweentwo windows a bust on a pedestal, similarly wrapped, one arm extendedunder its winding sheet, made a most life-like ghost, if any ghost canbe life-like. 

In the light of the candle we surveyed each other, and we were objectsfor mirth. Hotchkiss was taking off his sodden shoes and preparing tomake himself comfortable, while I hung my muddy raincoat over the ghostin the corner. Thus habited, he presented a rakish but distinctly morecomfortable appearance. 

"When these people built, " Hotchkiss said, surveying the huge dimensionsof the room, "they must have bought a mountain and built all over it. What a room!"

It seemed to be a living-room, although Hotchkiss remarked that itwas much more like a dead one. It was probably fifty feet long andtwenty-five feet wide. It was very high, too, with a domed ceiling, and a gallery ran around the entire room, about fifteen feet above thefloor. The candle light did not penetrate beyond the dim outlines of thegallery rail, but I fancied the wall there hung with smaller pictures. 

Hotchkiss had discovered a fire laid in the enormous fireplace, and in afew minutes we were steaming before a cheerful blaze. Within the radiusof its light and heat, we were comfortable again. But the brightnessmerely emphasized the gloom of the ghostly corners. We talked in subduedtones, and I smoked, a box of Russian cigarettes which I found in atable drawer. We had decided to stay all night, there being nothing elseto do. I suggested a game of double-dummy bridge, but did not urge itwhen my companion asked me if it resembled euchre. Gradually, as theecclesiastical candle paled in the firelight, we grew drowsy. I drewa divan into the cheerful area, and stretched myself out for sleep. Hotchkiss, who said the pain in his leg made him wakeful, sat wide-eyedby the fire, smoking a pipe. 

I have no idea how much time had passed when something threw itselfviolently on my chest. I roused with a start and leaped to my feet, anda large Angora cat fell with a thump to the floor. The fire was stillbright, and there was an odor of scorched leather through the room, fromHotchkiss' shoes. The little detective was sound asleep, his dead pipein his fingers. The cat sat back on its haunches and wailed. 

The curtain at the door into the hallway bellied slowly out into theroom and fell again. The cat looked toward it and opened its mouthfor another howl. I thrust at it with my foot, but it refused to move. Hotchkiss stirred uneasily, and his pipe clattered to the floor. 

The cat was standing at my feet, staring behind me. Apparently it wasfollowing with its eyes, an object unseen to me, that moved behindme. The tip of its tail waved threateningly, but when I wheeled I sawnothing. 

I took the candle and made a circuit of the room. Behind the curtainthat had moved the door was securely closed. The windows were shut andlocked, and everywhere the silence was absolute. The cat followed memajestically. I stooped and stroked its head, but it persisted in itsuncanny watching of the corners of the room. 

When I went back to my divan, after putting a fresh log on the fire, Iwas reassured. I took the precaution, and smiled at myself for doing it, to put the fire tongs within reach of my hand. But the cat would not letme sleep. After a time I decided that it wanted water, and I startedout in search of some, carrying the candle without the stand. I wanderedthrough several rooms, all closed and dismantled, before I found a smalllavatory opening off a billiard room. The cat lapped steadily, and Ifilled a glass to take back with me. The candle flickered in a sicklyfashion that threatened to leave me there lost in the wanderings of themany hallways, and from somewhere there came an occasional violent puffof wind. The cat stuck by my feet, with the hair on its back raisedmenacingly. I don't like cats; there is something psychic about them. 

Hotchkiss was still asleep when I got back to the big room. I moved hisboots back from the fire, and trimmed the candle. Then, with sleep gonefrom me, I lay back on my divan and reflected on many things: on myidiocy in coming; on Alison West, and the fact that only a week beforeshe had been a guest in this very house; on Richey and the constraintthat had come between us. From that I drifted back to Alison, and to thebarrier my comparative poverty would be. 

The emptiness, the stillness were oppressive. Once I heard footstepscoming, rhythmical steps that neither hurried nor dragged, and seemed tomount endless staircases without coming any closer. I realized finallythat I had not quite turned off the tap, and that the lavatory, which Ihad circled to reach, must be quite close. 

The cat lay by the fire, its nose on its folded paws, content in thewarmth and companionship. I watched it idly. Now and then the greenwood hissed in the fire, but the cat never batted an eye. Through anunshuttered window the lightning flashed. Suddenly the cat looked up. It lifted its head and stared directly at the gallery above. Then itblinked, and stared again. I was amused. Not until it had got up on itsfeet, eyes still riveted on the balcony, tail waving at the tip, thehair on its back a bristling brush, did I glance casually over my head. 

From among the shadows a face gazed down at me, a face that seemed afitting tenant of the ghostly room below. I saw it as plainly as I mightsee my own face in a mirror. While I stared at it with horrified eyes, the apparition faded. The rail was there, the Bokhara rug still swungfrom it, but the gallery was empty. 

The cat threw back its head and wailed. 

CHAPTER XXIV. HIS WIFE'S FATHER

I jumped up and seized the fire tongs. The cat's wail had rousedHotchkiss, who was wide-awake at once. He took in my offensive attitude, the tongs, the direction of my gaze, and needed nothing more. As hepicked up the candle and darted out into the hall, I followed him. Hemade directly for the staircase, and part way up he turned off to theright through a small door. We were on the gallery itself; below us thefire gleamed cheerfully, the cat was not in sight. There was no signof my ghostly visitant, but as we stood there the Bokhara rug, withoutwarning, slid over the railing and fell to the floor below. 

"Man or woman?" Hotchkiss inquired in his most professional tone. 

"Neither--that is, I don't know. I didn't notice anything but the eyes, "I muttered. "They were looking a hole in me. If you'd seen that cat youwould realize my state of mind. That was a traditional graveyard yowl. "

"I don't think you saw anything at all, " he lied cheerfully. "You dozedoff, and the rest is the natural result of a meal on a buffet car. "

Nevertheless, he examined the Bokhara carefully when we went down, and when I finally went to sleep he was reading the only book insight--Elwell on Bridge. The first rays of daylight were coming mistilyinto the room when he roused me. He had his finger on his lips, and hewhispered sibilantly while I tried to draw on my distorted boots. 

"I think we have him, " he said triumphantly. "I've been looking aroundsome, and I can tell you this much. Just before we came in through thewindow last night, another man came. Only--he did not drop, as youdid. He swung over to the stair railing, and then down. The rail isscratched. He was long enough ahead of us to go into the dining-roomand get a decanter out of the sideboard. He poured out the liquor intoa glass, left the decanter there, and took the whisky into the libraryacross the hall. Then--he broke into a desk, using a paper knife for ajimmy. "

"Good Lord, Hotchkiss, " I exclaimed; "why, it may have been Sullivanhimself! Confound your theories--he's getting farther away everyminute. "

"It was Sullivan, " Hotchkiss returned imperturbably. "And he has notgone. His boots are by the library fire. "

"He probably had a dozen pairs where he could get them, " I scoffed. "Andwhile you and I sat and slept, the very man we want to get our hands onleered at us over that railing. "

"Softly, softly, my friend, " Hotchkiss said, as I stamped into my othershoe. "I did not say he was gone. Don't jump at conclusions. It isfatal to reasoning. As a matter of fact, he didn't relish a night on themountains any more than we did. After he had unintentionally frightenedyou almost into paralysis, what would my gentleman naturally do? Go outin the storm again? Not if I know the Alice-sit-by-the-fire type. Hewent up-stairs, well up near the roof, locked himself in and went tobed. "

"And he is there now?"

"He is there now. "

We had no weapons. I am aware that the traditional hero is always armed, and that Hotchkiss as the low comedian should have had a revolver thatmissed fire. As a fact, we had nothing of the sort. Hotchkiss carriedthe fire tongs, but my sense of humor was too strong for me; I declinedthe poker. 

"All we want is a little peaceable conversation with him, " I demurred. "We can't brain him first and converse with him afterward. And anyhow, while I can't put my finger on the place, I think your theory is weak. If he wouldn't run a hundred miles through fire and water to get awayfrom us, then he is not the man we want. "

Hotchkiss, however, was certain. He had found the room and listenedoutside the door to the sleeper's heavy breathing, and so we climbedpast luxurious suites, revealed in the deepening daylight, past longvistas of hall and boudoir. And we were both badly winded when we gotthere. It was a tower room, reached by narrow stairs, and well above theroof level. Hotchkiss was glowing. 

"It is partly good luck, but not all, " he panted in a whisper. "If wehad persisted in the search last night, he would have taken alarm andfled. Now--we have him. Are you ready?"

He gave a mighty rap at the door with the fire tongs, and stoodexpectant. Certainly he was right; some one moved within. 

"Hello! Hello there!" Hotchkiss bawled. "You might as well come out. Wewon't hurt you, if you'll come peaceably. "

"Tell him we represent the law, " I prompted. "That's the customarything, you know. "

But at that moment a bullet came squarely through the door and flatteneditself with a sharp pst against the wall of the tower staircase. Weducked unanimously, dropped back out of range, and Hotchkiss retaliatedwith a spirited bang at the door with the tongs. This brought anotherbullet. It was a ridiculous situation. Under the circumstances, nodoubt, we should have retired, at least until we had armed ourselves, but Hotchkiss had no end of fighting spirit, and as for me, my blood wasup. 

"Break the lock, " I suggested, and Hotchkiss, standing at the side, outof range, retaliated for every bullet by a smashing blow with the tongs. The shots ceased after a half dozen, and the door was giving, slowly. One of us on each side of the door, we were ready for almost any kindof desperate resistance. As it swung open Hotchkiss poised the tongs; Istood, bent forward, my arm drawn back for a blow. 

Nothing happened. 

There was not a sound. Finally, at the risk of losing an eye which Ijustly value, I peered around and into the room. There was no desperadothere: only a fresh-faced, trembling-lipped servant, sitting on the edgeof her bed, with a quilt around her shoulders and the empty revolver ather feet. 

We were victorious, but no conquered army ever beat such a retreatas ours down the tower stairs and into the refuge of the living-room. There, with the door closed, sprawled on the divan, I went from onespasm of mirth into another, becoming sane at intervals, and sufferingrelapse again every time I saw Hotchkiss' disgruntled countenance. Hewas pacing the room, the tongs still in his hand, his mouth pursedwith irritation. Finally he stopped in front of me and compelled myattention. 

"When you have finished cackling, " he said with dignity, "I wish tojustify my position. Do you think the--er--young woman up-stairs puta pair of number eight boots to dry in the library last night? Do youthink she poured the whisky out of that decanter?"

"They have been known to do it, " I put in, but his eye silenced me. 

"Moreover, if she had been the person who peered at you over thegallery railing last night, don't you suppose, with her--er--belligerentdisposition, she could have filled you as full of lead as a windowweight?"

"I do, " I assented. "It wasn't Alice-sit-by-the-fire. I grant you that. Then who was it?"

Hotchkiss felt certain that it had been Sullivan, but I was not so sure. Why would he have crawled like a thief into his own house? If he hadcrossed the park, as seemed probable, when we did, he had not made anyattempt to use the knocker. I gave it up finally, and made an effort toconciliate the young woman in the tower. 

We had heard no sound since our spectacular entrance into her room. Iwas distinctly uncomfortable as, alone this time, I climbed to the towerstaircase. Reasoning from before, she would probably throw a chair atme. I stopped at the foot of the staircase and called. 

"Hello up there, " I said, in as debonair a manner as I could summon. "Good morning. Wie geht es bei ihen?"

No reply. 

"Bon jour, mademoiselle, " I tried again. This time there was a movementof some sort from above, but nothing fell on me. 

"I--we want to apologize for rousing you so--er--unexpectedly thismorning, " I went on. "The fact is, we wanted to talk to you, andyou--you were hard to waken. We are travelers, lost in your mountains, and we crave a breakfast and an audience. "

She came to the door then. I could feel that she was investigating thetop of my head from above. "Is Mr. Sullivan with you?" she asked. It wasthe first word from her, and she was not sure of her voice. 

"No. We are alone. If you will come down and look at us you will findus two perfectly harmless people, whose horse--curses on him--departedwithout leave last night and left us at your gate. "

She relaxed somewhat then and came down a step or two. "I was afraid Ihad killed somebody, " she said. "The housekeeper left yesterday, and theother maids went with her. "

When she saw that I was comparatively young and lacked the earmarks ofthe highwayman, she was greatly relieved. She was inclined to fight shyof Hotchkiss, however, for some reason. She gave us a breakfast of asort, for there was little in the house, and afterward we telephoned tothe town for a vehicle. While Hotchkiss examined scratches and replacedthe Bokhara rug, I engaged Jennie in conversation. 

"Can you tell me, " I asked, "who is managing the estate since Mrs. Curtis was killed?"

"No one, " she returned shortly. 

"Has--any member of the family been here since the accident?"

"No, sir. There was only the two, and some think Mr. Sullivan was killedas well as his sister. "

"You don't?"

"No, " with conviction. 

"Why?"

She wheeled on me with quick suspicion. 

"Are you a detective?" she demanded. 

"No. "

"You told him to say you represented the law. "

"I am a lawyer. Some of them misrepresent the law, but I--"

She broke in impatiently. 

"A sheriff's officer?"

"No. Look here, Jennie; I am all that I should be. You'll have tobelieve that. And I'm in a bad position through no fault of my own. Iwant you to answer some questions. If you will help me, I will do what Ican for you. Do you live near here?"

Her chin quivered. It was the first sign of weakness she had shown. 

"My home is in Pittsburg, " she said, "and I haven't enough money toget there. They hadn't paid any wages for two months. They didn't payanybody. "

"Very well, " I returned. "I'll send you back to Pittsburg, Pullmanincluded, if you will tell me some things I want to know. "

She agreed eagerly. Outside the window Hotchkiss was bending over, examining footprints in the drive. 

"Now, " I began, "there has been a Miss West staying here?"

"Yes. "

"Mr. Sullivan was attentive to her?"

"Yes. She was the granddaughter of a wealthy man in Pittsburg. My aunthas been in his family for twenty years. Mrs. Curtis wanted her brotherto marry Miss West. "

"Do you think he did marry her?" I could not keep the excitement out ofmy voice. 

"No. There were reasons"--she stopped abruptly. 

"Do you know anything of the family? Are they--were they New Yorkers?"

"They came from somewhere in the south. I have heard Mrs. Curtis say hermother was a Cuban. I don't know much about them, but Mr. Sullivan hada wicked temper, though he didn't look it. Folks say big, light-hairedpeople are easy going, but I don't believe it, sir. "

"How long was Miss West here?"

"Two weeks. "

I hesitated about further questioning. Critical as my position was, Icould not pry deeper into Alison West's affairs. If she had got into thehands of adventurers, as Sullivan and his sister appeared to have been, she was safely away from them again. But something of the situationin the car Ontario was forming itself in my mind: the incident at thefarmhouse lacked only motive to be complete. Was Sullivan, after all, arascal or a criminal? Was the murderer Sullivan or Mrs. Conway? The ladyor the tiger again. 

Jennie was speaking. 

"I hope Miss West was not hurt?" she asked. "We liked her, all of us. She was not like Mrs. Curtis. "

I wanted to say that she was not like anybody in the world. Instead--"She escaped with some bruises, " I said. 

She glanced at my arm. "You were on the train?"

"Yes. "

She waited for more questions, but none coming, she went to the door. Then she closed it softly and came back. 

"Mrs. Curtis is dead? You are sure of it?" she asked. 

"She was killed instantly, I believe. The body was not recovered. But Ihave reasons for believing that Mr. Sullivan is living. "

"I knew it, " she said. "I--I think he was here the night before last. That is why I went to the tower room. I believe he would kill me ifhe could. " As nearly as her round and comely face could expressit, Jennie's expression was tragic at that moment. I made a quickresolution, and acted on it at once. 

"You are not entirely frank with me, Jennie, " I protested. "And I amgoing to tell you more than I have. We are talking at cross purposes. "

"I was on the wrecked train, in the same car with Mrs. Curtis, Miss Westand Mr. Sullivan. During the night there was a crime committed in thatcar and Mr. Sullivan disappeared. But he left behind him a chain ofcircumstantial evidence that involved me completely, so that I may, atany time, be arrested. "

Apparently she did not comprehend for a moment. Then, as if the meaningof my words had just dawned on her, she looked up and gasped:

"You mean--Mr. Sullivan committed the crime himself?"

"I think he did. "

"What was it?"

"It was murder, " I said deliberately. 

Her hands clenched involuntarily, and she shrank back. "A woman?" Shecould scarcely form her words. 

"No, a man; a Mr. Simon Harrington, of Pittsburg. "

Her effort to retain her self-control was pitiful. Then she broke downand cried, her head on the back of a tall chair. 

"It was my fault, " she said wretchedly, "my fault, I should not havesent them the word. "

After a few minutes she grew quiet. She seemed to hesitate oversomething, and finally determined to say it. 

"You will understand better, sir, when I say that I was raised in theHarrington family. Mr. Harrington was Mr. Sullivan's wife's father!"

CHAPTER XXV. AT THE STATION

So it had been the tiger, not the lady! Well, I had held to that theoryall through. Jennie suddenly became a valuable person; if necessary shecould prove the connection between Sullivan and the murdered man, andshow a motive for the crime. I was triumphant when Hotchkiss came in. When the girl had produced a photograph of Mrs. Sullivan, and I hadrecognized the bronze-haired girl of the train, we were both wellsatisfied--which goes to prove the ephemeral nature of most humancontentments. 

Jennie either had nothing more to say, or feared she had said too much. She was evidently uneasy before Hotchkiss. I told her that Mrs. Sullivanwas recovering in a Baltimore hospital, but she already knew it, fromsome source, and merely nodded. She made a few preparations for leaving, while Hotchkiss and I compared notes, and then, with the cat in herarms, she climbed into the trap from the town. I sat with her, and onthe way down she told me a little, not much. 

"If you see Mrs. Sullivan, " she advised, "and she is conscious, sheprobably thinks that both her husband and her father were killed in thewreck. She will be in a bad way, sir. "

"You mean that she--still cares about her husband?"

The cat crawled over on to my knee, and rubbed its bead against my handinvitingly. Jennie stared at the undulating line of the mountain crests, a colossal sun against a blue ocean of sky. "Yes, she cares, " she saidsoftly. "Women are made like that. They say they are cats, but Peterthere in your lap wouldn't come back and lick your hand if you kickedhim. If--if you have to tell her the truth, be as gentle as you can, sir. She has been good to me--that's why I have played the spy here allsummer. It's a thankless thing, spying on people. "

"It is that, " I agreed soberly. 

Hotchkiss and I arrived in Washington late that evening, and, ratherthan arouse the household, I went to the club. I was at the office earlythe next morning and admitted myself. McKnight rarely appeared beforehalf after ten, and our modest office force some time after nine. Ilooked over my previous day's mail and waited, with such patience as Ipossessed, for McKnight. In the interval I called up Mrs. Kloptonand announced that I would dine at home that night. What my householdsubsists on during my numerous absences I have never discovered. Tea, probably, and crackers. Diligent search when I have made a midnightarrival, never reveals anything more substantial. Possibly I imagine it, but the announcement that I am about to make a journey always seemsto create a general atmosphere of depression throughout the house, as though Euphemia and Eliza, and Thomas, the stableman, were alreadysubsisting, in imagination, on Mrs. Klopton's meager fare. 

So I called her up and announced my arrival. There was something unusualin her tone, as though her throat was tense with indignation. Alwaysshrill, her elderly voice rasped my ear painfully through the receiver. 

"I have changed the butcher, Mr. Lawrence, " she announced portentously. "The last roast was a pound short, and his mutton-chops--anyself-respecting sheep would refuse to acknowledge them. "

As I said before, I can always tell from the voice in which Mrs. Kloptonconveys the most indifferent matters, if something of real significancehas occurred. Also, through long habit, I have learned how quickest tobring her to the point. 

"You are pessimistic this morning, " I returned. "What's the matter, Mrs. Klopton? You haven't used that tone since Euphemia baked a pie for theiceman. What is it now? Somebody poison the dog?"

She cleared her throat. 

"The house has been broken into, Mr. Lawrence, " she said. "I have livedin the best families, and never have I stood by and seen what Isaw yesterday--every bureau drawer opened, and my--my most sacredbelongings--" she choked. 

"Did you notify the police?" I asked sharply. 

"Police!" she sniffed. "Police! It was the police that did it--twodetectives with a search warrant. I--I wouldn't dare tell you over thetelephone what one of them said when he found the whisky and rock candyfor my cough. "

"Did they take anything?" I demanded, every nerve on edge. 

"They took the cough medicine, " she returned indignantly, "and theysaid--"

"Confound the cough medicine!" I was frantic. "Did they take anythingelse? Were they in my dressing-room?"

"Yes. I threatened to sue them, and I told them what you would do whenyou came back. But they wouldn't listen. They took away that blacksealskin bag you brought home from Pittsburg with you!"

I knew then that my hours of freedom were numbered. To have foundSullivan and then, in support of my case against him, to have producedthe bag, minus the bit of chain, had been my intention. But the policehad the bag, and, beyond knowing something of Sullivan's history, I waspractically no nearer his discovery than before. Hotchkiss hoped he hadhis man in the house off Washington Circle, but on the very night he hadseen him Jennie claimed that Sullivan had tried to enter the Laurels. Then--suppose we found Sullivan and proved the satchel and its contentshis? Since the police had the bit of chain it might mean involvingAlison in the story. I sat down and buried my face in my hands. Therewas no escape. I figured it out despondingly. 

Against me was the evidence of the survivors of the Ontario that I hadbeen accused of the murder at the time. There had been blood-stains onmy pillow and a hidden dagger. Into the bargain, in my possession hadbeen found a traveling-bag containing the dead man's pocket-book. 

In my favor was McKnight's theory against Mrs. Conway. She had a motivefor wishing to secure the notes, she believed I was in lower ten, andshe had collapsed at the discovery of the crime in the morning. 

Against both of these theories, I accuse a purely chimerical personnamed Sullivan, who was not seen by any of the survivors--save one, Alison, whom I could not bring into the case. I could find a motive forhis murdering his father-in-law, whom he hated, but again--I would haveto drag in the girl. 

And not one of the theories explained the telegram and the brokennecklace. 

Outside the office force was arriving. They were comfortably ignorantof my presence, and over the transom floated scraps of dialogue and thestenographer's gurgling laugh. McKnight had a relative, who was readinglaw with him, in the intervals between calling up the young women of hisacquaintance. He came in singing, and the office boy joined in with theuncertainty of voice of fifteen. I smiled grimly. I was too busy with myown troubles to find any joy in opening the door and startling them intosilence. I even heard, without resentment, Blobs of the uncertain voiceinquire when "Blake" would be back. 

I hoped McKnight would arrive before the arrest occurred. There weremany things to arrange. But when at last, impatient of his delay, Itelephoned, I found he had been gone for more than an hour. Clearly hewas not coming directly to the office, and with such resignation as Icould muster I paced the floor and waited. 

I felt more alone than I have ever felt in my life. "Born an orphan, "as Richey said, I had made my own way, carved out myself such success ashad been mine. I had built up my house of life on the props of law andorder, and now some unknown hand had withdrawn the supports, and I stoodamong ruins. 

I suppose it is the maternal in a woman that makes a man turn to herwhen everything else fails. The eternal boy in him goes to have hiswounded pride bandaged, his tattered self-respect repaired. If he lovesthe woman, he wants her to kiss the hurt. 

The longing to see Alison, always with me, was stronger than I was thatmorning. It might be that I would not see her again. I had nothing tosay to her save one thing, and that, under the cloud that hung over me, I did not dare to say. But I wanted to see her, to touch her hand--asonly a lonely man can crave it, I wanted the comfort of her, the peacethat lay in her presence. And so, with every step outside the door athreat, I telephoned to her. 

She was gone! The disappointment was great, for my need was great. Ina fury of revolt against the scheme of things, I heard that she hadstarted home to Richmond--but that she might still be caught at thestation. 

To see her had by that time become an obsession. I picked up my hat, threw open the door, and, oblivious of the shock to the office forceof my presence, followed so immediately by my exit, I dashed out to theelevator. As I went down in one cage I caught a glimpse of Johnson andtwo other men going up in the next. I hardly gave them a thought. Therewas no hansom in sight, and I jumped on a passing car. Let come whatmight, arrest, prison, disgrace, I was going to see Alison. 

I saw her. I flung into the station, saw that it was empty--empty, forshe was not there. Then I hurried back to the gates. She was there, afamiliar figure in blue, the very gown in which I always thought ofher, the one she had worn when, Heaven help me--I had kissed her, at theCarter farm. And she was not alone. Bending over her, talking earnestly, with all his boyish heart in his face, was Richey. 

They did not see me, and I was glad of it. After all, it had beenMcKnight's game first. I turned on my heel and made my way blindly outof the station. Before I lost them I turned once and looked toward them, standing apart from the crowd, absorbed in each other. They were theonly two people on earth that I cared about, and I left them theretogether. Then I went back miserably to the office and awaited arrest. 

CHAPTER XXVI. ON TO RICHMOND

Strangely enough, I was not disturbed that day. McKnight did not appearat all. I sat at my desk and transacted routine business all afternoon, working with feverish energy. Like a man on the verge of a criticalillness or a hazardous journey, I cleared up my correspondence, paidbills until I had writer's cramp from signing checks, read over my will, and paid up my life insurance, made to the benefit of an elderly sisterof my mother's. I no longer dreaded arrest. After that morning in thestation, I felt that anything would be a relief from the tension. Iwent home with perfect openness, courting the warrant that I knew waswaiting, but I was not molested. The delay puzzled me. The early part ofthe evening was uneventful. I read until late, with occasional lapses, when my book lay at my elbow, and I smoked and thought. Mrs. Kloptonclosed the house with ostentatious caution, about eleven, and hungaround waiting to enlarge on the outrageousness of the police search. Idid not encourage her. 

"One would think, " she concluded pompously, one foot in the hall, "thatyou were something you oughtn't to be, Mr. Lawrence. They acted asthough you had committed a crime. "

"I'm not sure that I didn't, Mrs. Klopton, " I said wearily. "Somebodydid, the general verdict seems to point my way. "

She stared at me in speechless indignation. Then she flounced out. Shecame back once to say that the paper predicted cooler weather, and thatshe had put a blanket on my bed, but, to her disappointment, I refusedto reopen the subject. 

At half past eleven McKnight and Hotchkiss came in. Richey has a habitof stopping his car in front of the house and honking until someone comes out. He has a code of signals with the horn, which I neverremember. Two long and a short blast mean, I believe, "Send out a box ofcigarettes, " and six short blasts, which sound like a police call, mean"Can you lend me some money?" To-night I knew something was up, for hegot out and rang the door-bell like a Christian. 

They came into the library, and Hotchkiss wiped his collar until itgleamed. McKnight was aggressively cheerful. 

"Not pinched yet!" he exclaimed. "What do you think of that for luck!You always were a fortunate devil, Lawrence. "

"Yes, " I assented, with some bitterness, "I hardly know how to containmyself for joy sometimes. I suppose you know"--to Hotchkiss--"that thepolice were here while we were at Cresson, and that they found the bagthat I brought from the wreck?"

"Things are coming to a head, " he said thoughtfully "unless a littleplan that I have in mind--" he hesitated. 

"I hope so; I am pretty nearly desperate, " I said doggedly. "I've got amental toothache, and the sooner it's pulled the better. "

"Tut, tut, " said McKnight, "think of the disgrace to the firm if itssenior member goes up for life, or--" he twisted his handkerchief into anoose, and went through an elaborate pantomime. 

"Although jail isn't so bad, anyhow, " he finished, "there are fellowsthat get the habit and keep going back and going back. " He looked athis watch, and I fancied his cheerfulness was strained. Hotchkiss wasnervously fumbling my book. 

"Did you ever read The Purloined Letter, Mr. Blakeley?" he inquired. 

"Probably, years ago, " I said. "Poe, isn't it?"

He was choked at my indifference. "It is a masterpiece, " he said, withenthusiasm. "I re-read it to-day. "

"And what happened?"

"Then I inspected the rooms in the house off Washington Circle. I--Imade some discoveries, Mr. Blakeley. For one thing, our man there isleft-handed. " He looked around for our approval. "There was a smallcushion on the dresser, and the scarf pins in it had been stuck in withthe left hand. "

"Somebody may have twisted the cushion, " I objected, but he looked hurt, and I desisted. 

"There is only one discrepancy, " he admitted, "but it troubles me. According to Mrs. Carter, at the farmhouse, our man wore gaudy pajamas, while I found here only the most severely plain night-shirts. "

"Any buttons off?" McKnight inquired, looking again at his watch. 

"The buttons were there, " the amateur detective answered gravely, "butthe buttonhole next the top one was torn through. "

McKnight winked at me furtively. 

"I am convinced of one thing, " Hotchkiss went on, clearing his throat, "the papers are not in that room. Either he carries them with him, or hehas sold them. "

A sound on the street made both my visitors listen sharply. Whatever itwas it passed on, however. I was growing curious and the restraint wastelling on McKnight. He has no talent for secrecy. In the intervalwe discussed the strange occurrence at Cresson, which lost nothing byHotchkiss' dry narration. 

"And so, " he concluded, "the woman in the Baltimore hospital is the wifeof Henry Sullivan and the daughter of the man he murdered. No wonder hecollapsed when he heard of the wreck. "

"Joy, probably, " McKnight put in. "Is that clock right, Lawrence? Nevermind, it doesn't matter. By the way, Mrs. Conway dropped in the officeyesterday, while you were away. "

"What!" I sprang from my chair. 

"Sure thing. Said she had heard great things of us, and wanted us tohandle her case against the railroad. "

"I would like to know what she is driving at, " I reflected. "Is shetrying to reach me through you?"

Richey's flippancy is often a cloak for deeper feeling. He dropped itnow. "Yes, " he said, "she's after the notes, of course. And I'll tellyou I felt like a poltroon--whatever that may be--when I turnedher down. She stood by the door with her face white, and told mecontemptuously that I could save you from a murder charge and wouldn'tdo it. She made me feel like a cur. I was just as guilty as if I couldhave obliged her. She hinted that there were reasons and she laid myattitude to beastly motives. "

"Nonsense, " I said, as easily as I could. Hotchkiss had gone to thewindow. "She was excited. There are no 'reasons, ' whatever she means. "

Richey put his hand on my shoulder. "We've been together too long tolet any 'reasons' or 'unreasons' come between us, old man, " he said, notvery steadily. Hotchkiss, who had been silent, here came forward inhis most impressive manner. He put his hands under his coat-tails andcoughed. 

"Mr. Blakeley, " he began, "by Mr. McKnight's advice we have arranged alittle interview here to-night. If all has gone as I planned, Mr. Henry Pinckney Sullivan is by this time under arrest. Within a very fewminutes--he will be here. "

"I wanted to talk to him before he was locked up, " Richey explained. "He's clever enough to be worth knowing, and, besides, I'm not sococksure of his guilt as our friend the Patch on the Seat of Government. No murderer worthy of the name needs six different motives for thesame crime, beginning with robbery, and ending with an unpleasantfather-in-law. "

We were all silent for a while. McKnight stationed himself at a window, and Hotchkiss paced the floor expectantly. "It's a great day for moderndetective methods, " he chirruped. "While the police have been guardinghouses and standing with their mouths open waiting for clues to fall inand choke them, we have pieced together, bit by bit, a fabric--"

The door-bell rang, followed immediately by sounds of footsteps in thehall. McKnight threw the door open, and Hotchkiss, raised on his toes, flung out his arm in a gesture of superb eloquence. 

"Behold--your man!" he declaimed. 

Through the open doorway came a tall, blond fellow, clad in light gray, wearing tan shoes, and followed closely by an officer. 

"I brought him here as you suggested, Mr. McKnight, " said the constable. 

But McKnight was doubled over the library table in silent convulsions ofmirth, and I was almost as bad. Little Hotchkiss stood up, his importantattitude finally changing to one of chagrin, while the blond man ceasedto look angry, and became sheepish. 

It was Stuart, our confidential clerk for the last half dozen years!

McKnight sat up and wiped his eyes. 

"Stuart, " he said sternly, "there are two very serious things we havelearned about you. First, you jab your scarf pins into your cushionwith your left hand, which is most reprehensible; second, youwear--er--night-shirts, instead of pajamas. Worse than that, perhaps, wefind that one of them has a buttonhole torn out at the neck. "

Stuart was bewildered. He looked from McKnight to me, and then at thecrestfallen Hotchkiss. 

"I haven't any idea what it's all about, " he said. "I was arrested asI reached my boarding-house to-night, after the theater, and broughtdirectly here. I told the officer it was a mistake. "

Poor Hotchkiss tried bravely to justify the fiasco. "You can not deny, "he contended, "that Mr. Andrew Bronson followed you to your rooms lastMonday evening. "

Stuart looked at us and flushed. 

"No, I don't deny it, " he said, "but there was nothing criminal aboutit, on my part, at least. Mr. Bronson has been trying to induce me tosecure the forged notes for him. But I did not even know where theywere. "

"And you were not on the wrecked Washington Flier?" persisted Hotchkiss. But McKnight interfered. 

"There is no use trying to put the other man's identity on Stuart, Mr. Hotchkiss, " he protested. "He has been our confidential clerk for sixyears, and has not been away from the office a day for a year. I amafraid that the beautiful fabric we have pieced out of all these scrapsis going to be a crazy quilt. " His tone was facetious, but I coulddetect the undercurrent of real disappointment. 

I paid the constable for his trouble, and he departed. Stuart, stillindignant, left to go back to Washington Circle. He shook hands withMcKnight and myself magnanimously, but he hurled a look of utter hatredat Hotchkiss, sunk crestfallen in his chair. 

"As far as I can see, " said McKnight dryly, "we're exactly as far alongas we were the day we met at the Carter place. We're not a step nearerto finding our man. "

"We have one thing that may be of value, " I suggested. "He is thehusband of a bronze-haired woman at Van Kirk's hospital, and it is justpossible we may trace him through her. I hope we are not going to loseyour valuable co-operation, Mr. Hotchkiss?" I asked. 

He roused at that to feeble interest, "I--oh, of course not, if youstill care to have me, I--I was wondering about--the man who just wentout, Stuart, you say? I--told his landlady to-night that he wouldn'tneed the room again. I hope she hasn't rented it to somebody else. "

We cheered him as best we could, and I suggested that we go to Baltimorethe next day and try to find the real Sullivan through his wife. He leftsometime after midnight, and Richey and I were alone. 

He drew a chair near the lamp and lighted a cigarette, and for a time wewere silent. I was in the shadow, and I sat back and watched him. Itwas not surprising, I thought, that she cared for him: women had alwaysloved him, perhaps because he always loved them. There was no disloyaltyin the thought: it was the lad's nature to give and crave affection. Only--I was different. I had never really cared about a girl before, and my life had been singularly loveless. I had fought a lonely battlealways. Once before, in college, we had both laid ourselves and ourcallow devotions at the feet of the same girl. Her name was Dorothy--Ihad forgotten the rest--but I remembered the sequel. In a spirit ofquixotic youth I had relinquished my claim in favor of Richey and hadgone cheerfully on my way, elevated by my heroic sacrifice to a somber, white-hot martyrdom. As is often the case, McKnight's first words showedour parallel lines of thought. 

"I say, Lollie, " he asked, "do you remember Dorothy Browne?" Browne, that was it!

"Dorothy Browne?" I repeated. "Oh--why yes, I recall her now. Why?"

"Nothing, " he said. "I was thinking about her. That's all. You rememberyou were crazy about her, and dropped back because she preferred me. "

"I got out, " I said with dignity, "because you declared you would shootyourself if she didn't go with you to something or other!"

"Oh, why yes, I recall now!" he mimicked. He tossed his cigarette inthe general direction of the hearth and got up. We were both a littleconscious, and he stood with his back to me, fingering a Japanese vaseon the mantel. 

"I was thinking, " he began, turning the vase around, "that, if you feelpretty well again, and--and ready to take hold, that I should like to goaway for a week or so. Things are fairly well cleaned up at the office. "

"Do you mean--you are going to Richmond?" I asked, after a scarcelyperceptible pause. He turned and faced me, with his hands thrust in hispockets. 

"No. That's off, Lollie. The Sieberts are going for a week's cruisealong the coast. I--the hot weather has played hob with me and thecruise means seven days' breeze and bridge. "

I lighted a cigarette and offered him the box, but he refused. He waslooking haggard and suddenly tired. I could not think of anything tosay, and neither could he, evidently. The matter between us lay too deepfor speech. 

"How's Candida?" he asked. 

"Martin says a month, and she will be all right, " I returned, in thesame tone. He picked up his hat, but he had something more to say. Heblurted it out, finally, half way to the door. 

"The Seiberts are not going for a couple of days, " he said, "and if youwant a day or so off to go down to Richmond yourself--"

"Perhaps I shall, " I returned, as indifferently as I could. "Not goingyet, are you?"

"Yes. It is late. " He drew in his breath as if he had something moreto say, but the impulse passed. "Well, good night, " he said from thedoorway. 

"Good night, old man. "

The next moment the outer door slammed and I heard the engine of theCannonball throbbing in the street. Then the quiet settled down aroundme again, and there in the lamplight I dreamed dreams. I was going tosee her. 

Suddenly the idea of being shut away, even temporarily, from so greatand wonderful a world became intolerable. The possibility of arrestbefore I could get to Richmond was hideous, the night without end. 

I made my escape the next morning through the stable back of the house, and then, by devious dark and winding ways, to the office. There, aftera conference with Blobs, whose features fairly jerked with excitement, I double-locked the door of my private office and finished off someimperative work. By ten o'clock I was free, and for the twentieth timeI consulted my train schedule. At five minutes after ten, with McKnightnot yet in sight, Blobs knocked at the door, the double rap we hadagreed upon, and on being admitted slipped in and quietly closed thedoor behind him. His eyes were glistening with excitement, and a purpledab of typewriter ink gave him a peculiarly villainous and stealthyexpression. 

"They're here, " he said, "two of 'em, and that crazy Stuart wasn't on, and said you were somewhere in the building. "

A door slammed outside, followed by steps on the uncarpeted outeroffice. 

"This way, " said Blobs, in a husky undertone, and, darting into alavatory, threw open a door that I had always supposed locked. Thenceinto a back hall piled high with boxes and past the presses of abookbindery to the freight elevator. 

Greatly to Blobs' disappointment, there was no pursuit. I wasexhilarated but out of breath when we emerged into an alleyway, and thesharp daylight shone on Blobs' excited face. 

"Great sport, isn't it?" I panted, dropping a dollar into hispalm, inked to correspond with his face. "Regular walk-away in thehundred-yard dash. "

"Gimme two dollars more and I'll drop 'em down the elevator shaft, " hesuggested ferociously. I left him there with his blood-thirsty schemes, and started for the station. I had a tendency to look behind me now andthen, but I reached the station unnoticed. The afternoon was hot, thetrain rolled slowly along, stopping to pant at sweltering stations, from whose roofs the heat rose in waves. But I noticed these thingsobjectively, not subjectively, for at the end of the journey was a girlwith blue eyes and dark brown hair, hair that could--had I not seenit?--hang loose in bewitching tangles or be twisted into little coils ofdelight. 

CHAPTER XXVII. THE SEA, THE SAND, THE STARS

I telephoned as soon as I reached my hotel, and I had not known how muchI had hoped from seeing her until I learned that she was out of town. Ihung up the receiver, almost dizzy with disappointment, and it was fullyfive minutes before I thought of calling up again and asking if she waswithin telephone reach. It seemed she was down on the bay staying withthe Samuel Forbeses. 

Sammy Forbes! It was a name to conjure with just then. In the old daysat college I had rather flouted him, but now I was ready to take him tomy heart. I remembered that he had always meant well, anyhow, and thathe was explosively generous. I called him up. 

"By the fumes of gasoline!" he said, when I told him who I was. "Blakeley, the Fount of Wisdom against Woman! Blakeley, the GreatUnkissed! Welcome to our city!"

Whereupon he proceeded to urge me to come down to the Shack, and to saythat I was an agreeable surprise, because four times in two hoursyouths had called up to ask if Alison West was stopping with him, andto suggest that they had a vacant day or two. "Oh--Miss West!" I shoutedpolitely. There was a buzzing on the line. "Is she there?" Sam had nosuspicions. Was not I in his mind always the Great Unkissed?--whichsounds like the Great Unwashed and is even more of a reproach. He askedme down promptly, as I had hoped, and thrust aside my objections. 

"Nonsense, " he said. "Bring yourself. The lady that keeps myboarding-house is calling to me to insist. You remember Dorothy, don'tyou, Dorothy Browne? She says unless you have lost your figure youcan wear my clothes all right. All you need here is a bathing suit fordaytime and a dinner coat for evening. "

"It sounds cool, " I temporized. "If you are sure I won't put youout--very well, Sam, since you and your wife are good enough. I have acouple of days free. Give my love to Dorothy until I can do it myself. "

Sam met me himself and drove me out to the Shack, which proved to be asubstantial house overlooking the water. On the way he confided to methat lots of married men thought they were contented when they weremerely resigned, but that it was the only life, and that Sam, Junior, could swim like a duck. Incidentally, he said that Alison was his wife'scousin, their respective grandmothers having, at proper intervals, married the same man, and that Alison would lose her good looks if shewas not careful. 

"I say she's worried, and I stick to it, " he said, as he threw the linesto a groom and prepared to get out. "You know her, and she's the kindof girl you think you can read like a book. But you can't; don't foolyourself. Take a good look at her at dinner, Blake; you won't lose yourhead like the other fellows--and then tell me what's wrong with her. We're mighty fond of Allie. "

He went ponderously up the steps, for Sam had put on weight since I knewhim. At the door he turned around. "Do you happen to know the MacLuresat Seal Harbor?" he asked irrelevantly, but Mrs. Sam came into the halljust then, both hands out to greet me, and, whatever Forbes had meant tosay, he did not pick up the subject again. 

"We are having tea in here, " Dorothy said gaily, indicating the doorbehind her. "Tea by courtesy, because I think tea is the only beveragethat isn't represented. And then we must dress, for this is hop night atthe club. "

"Which is as great a misnomer as the tea, " Sam put in, ponderouslystruggling out of his linen driving coat. "It's bridge night, and theonly hops are in the beer. "

He was still gurgling over this as he took me upstairs. He showed me myroom himself, and then began the fruitless search for evening raimentthat kept me home that night from the club. For I couldn't wear Sam'sclothes. That was clear, after a perspiring seance of a half hour. 

"I won't do it, Sam, " I said, when I had draped his dress-coat on metoga fashion. "Who am I to have clothing to spare, like this, when manya poor chap hasn't even a cellar door to cover him. I won't do it; I'mselfish, but not that selfish. "

"Lord, " he said, wiping his face, "how you've kept your figure! I can'twear a belt any more; got to have suspenders. "

He reflected over his grievance for some time, sitting on the side ofthe bed. "You could go as you are, " he said finally. "We do it all thetime, only to-night happens to be the annual something or other, and--"he trailed off into silence, trying to buckle my belt around him. "Agood six inches, " he sighed. "I never get into a hansom cab any morethat I don't expect to see the horse fly up into the air. Well, Allie isn't going either. She turned down Granger this afternoon, theAnnapolis fellow you met on the stairs, pigeon-breasted chap--and shealways gets a headache on those occasions. "

He got up heavily and went to the door. "Granger is leaving, " he said, "I may be able to get his dinner coat for you. How well do you knowher?" he asked, with his hand on the knob. 

"If you mean Dolly--?"

"Alison. "

"Fairly well, " I said cautiously. "Not as well as I would like to. Idined with her last week in Washington. And--I knew her before that. "

Forbes touched the bell instead of going out, and told the servant whoanswered to see if Mr. Granger's suitcase had gone. If not, to bring itacross the hail. Then he came back to his former position on the bed. 

"You see, we feel responsible for Allie--near relation and all that, " hebegan pompously. "And we can't talk to the people here at thehouse--all the men are in love with her, and all the women are jealous. Then--there's a lot of money, too, or will be. "

"Confound the money!" I muttered. "That is--nothing. Razor slipped. "

"I can tell you, " he went on, "because you don't lose your head overevery pretty face--although Allie is more than that, of course. Butabout a month ago she went away--to Seal Harbor, to visit Janet MacLure. Know her?"

"She came home to Richmond yesterday, and then came down here--Allie, Imean. And yesterday afternoon Dolly had a letter from Janet--somethingabout a second man--and saying she was disappointed not to have hadAlison there, that she had promised them a two weeks' visit! What doyou make of that? And that isn't the worst. Allie herself wasn't inthe room, but there were eight other women, and because Dolly had putbelladonna in her eyes the night before to see how she would look, andas a result couldn't see anything nearer than across the room, some oneread the letter aloud to her, and the whole story is out. One of thecats told Granger and the boy proposed to Allie to-day, to show her hedidn't care a tinker's dam where she had been. "

"Good boy!" I said, with enthusiasm. I liked the Granger fellow--sincehe was out of the running. But Sam was looking at me with suspicion. 

"Blake, " he said, "if I didn't know you for what you are, I'd say youwere interested there yourself. "

Being so near her, under the same roof, with even the tie of a dubioussecret between us, was making me heady. I pushed Forbes toward the door. 

"I interested!" I retorted, holding him by the shoulders. "There isn't aword in your vocabulary to fit my condition. I am an island in a sunlitsea of emotion, Sam, a--an empty place surrounded by longing--a--"

"An empty place surrounded by longing!" he retorted. "You want yourdinner, that's what's the matter with you--"

I shut the door on him then. He seemed suddenly sordid. Dinner, Ithought! Although, as matter of fact, I made a very fair meal when, Granger's suitcase not having gone, in his coat and some other man'strousers, I was finally fit for the amenities. Alison did not comedown to dinner, so it was clear she would not go over to the club-housedance. I pled my injured arm and a ficticious, vaguely located sprainfrom the wreck, as an excuse for remaining at home. Sam regaled thetable with accounts of my distrust of women, my one love affair--withDorothy; to which I responded, as was expected, that only my failurethere had kept me single all these years, and that if Sam should bemysteriously missing during the bathing hour to-morrow, and so on. 

And when the endless meal was over, and yards of white veils had beentied over pounds of hair--or is it, too, bought by the yard?--and someeight ensembles with their abject complements had been packed into threeautomobiles and a trap, I drew a long breath and faced about. I hadjust then only one object in life--to find Alison, to assure her of myabsolute faith and confidence in her, and to offer my help and my poorself, if she would let me, in her service. 

She was not easy to find. I searched the lower floor, the verandas andthe grounds, circumspectly. Then I ran into a little English girl whoturned out to be her maid, and who also was searching. She was concernedbecause her mistress had had no dinner, and because the tray of food shecarried would soon be cold. I took the tray from her, on the glimpse ofsomething white on the shore, and that was how I met the Girl again. 

She was sitting on an over-turned boat, her chin in her hands, staringout to sea. The soft tide of the bay lapped almost at her feet, and thedraperies of her white gown melted hazily into the sands. She lookedlike a wraith, a despondent phantom of the sea, although the adjectiveis redundant. Nobody ever thinks of a cheerful phantom. Strangelyenough, considering her evident sadness, she was whistling softly toherself, over and over, some dreary little minor air that sounded likea Bohemian dirge. She glanced up quickly when I made a misstep and mydishes jingled. All considered, the tray was out of the picture: thesea, the misty starlight, the girl, with her beauty--even the sad littlewhistle that stopped now and then to go bravely on again, as though itfought against the odds of a trembling lip. And then I came, accompaniedby a tray of little silver dishes that jingled and an unmistakable odorof broiled chicken!

"Oh!" she said quickly; and then, "Oh! I thought you were Jenkins. "

"Timeo Danaos--what's the rest of it?" I asked, tendering my offering. "You didn't have any dinner, you know. " I sat down beside her. "See, I'll be the table. What was the old fairy tale? 'Little goat bleat:little table appear!' I'm perfectly willing to be the goat, too. "

She was laughing rather tremulously. 

"We never do meet like other people, do we?" she asked. "We really oughtto shake hands and say how are you. "

"I don't want to meet you like other people, and I suppose you alwaysthink of me as wearing the other fellow's clothes, " I returned meekly. "I'm doing it again: I don't seem to be able to help it. These areGranger's that I have on now. "

She threw back her head and laughed again, joyously, this time. 

"Oh, it's so ridiculous, " she said, "and you have never seen me when Iwas not eating! It's too prosaic!"

"Which reminds me that the chicken is getting cold, and the ice warm, "I suggested. "At the time, I thought there could be no place better thanthe farmhouse kitchen--but this is. I ordered all this for something Iwant to say to you--the sea, the sand, the stars. "

"How alliterative you are!" she said, trying to be flippant. "You arenot to say anything until I have had my supper. Look how the things arespilled around!"

But she ate nothing, after all, and pretty soon I put the tray down inthe sand. I said little; there was no hurry. We were together, and timemeant nothing against that age-long wash of the sea. The air blew herhair in small damp curls against her face, and little by little the tideretreated, leaving our boat an oasis in a waste of gray sand. 

 "If seven maids with seven mops swept it for half a year Do you suppose, the walrus said, that they could get it clear?"

she threw at me once when she must have known I was going to speak. Iheld her hand, and as long as I merely held it she let it lie warm inmine. But when I raised it to my lips, and kissed the soft, open palm, she drew it away without displeasure. 

"Not that, please, " she protested, and fell to whistling softly again, her chin in her hands. "I can't sing, " she said, to break an awkwardpause, "and so, when I'm fidgety, or have something on my mind, Iwhistle. I hope you don't dislike it?"

"I love it, " I asserted warmly. I did; when she pursed her lips likethat I was mad to kiss them. 

"I saw you--at the station, " she said, suddenly. "You--you were in ahurry to go. " I did not say anything, and after a pause she drew a longbreath. "Men are queer, aren't they?" she said, and fell to whistlingagain. 

After a while she sat up as if she had made a resolution. "I am goingto confess something, " she announced suddenly. "You said, you know, thatyou had ordered all this for something you--you wanted to say to me. But the fact is, I fixed it all--came here, I mean, because--I knew youwould come, and I had something to tell you. It was such a miserablething I--needed the accessories to help me out. "

"I don't want to hear anything that distresses you to tell, " I assuredher. "I didn't come here to force your confidence, Alison. I camebecause I couldn't help it. " She did not object to my use of her name. 

"Have you found--your papers?" she asked, looking directly at me foralmost the first time. 

"Not yet. We hope to. "

"The--police have not interfered with you?"

"They haven't had any opportunity, " I equivocated. "You needn't distressyourself about that, anyhow. "

"But I do. I wonder why you still believe in me? Nobody else does. "

"I wonder, " I repeated, "why I do!"

"If you produce Harry Sullivan, " she was saying, partly to herself, "andif you could connect him with Mr. Bronson, and get a full account of whyhe was on the train, and all that, it--it would help, wouldn't it?"

I acknowledged that it would. Now that the whole truth was almost inmy possession, I was stricken with the old cowardice. I did not want toknow what she might tell me. The yellow line on the horizon, where themoon was coming up, was a broken bit of golden chain: my heel in thesand was again pressed on a woman's yielding fingers: I pulled myselftogether with a jerk. 

"In order that what you might tell me may help me, if it will, " I saidconstrainedly, "it would be necessary, perhaps, that you tell it to thepolice. Since they have found the end of the necklace--"

"The end of the necklace!" she repeated slowly. "What about the end ofthe necklace?"

I stared at her. "Don't you remember"--I leaned forward--"the end of thecameo necklace, the part that was broken off, and was found in the blacksealskin bag, stained with--with blood?"

"Blood, " she said dully. "You mean that you found the broken end? Andthen--you had my gold pocket-book, and you saw the necklace in it, andyou--must have thought--"

"I didn't think anything, " I hastened to assure her. "I tell you, Alison, I never thought of anything but that you were unhappy, and thatI had no right to help you. God knows, I thought you didn't want me tohelp you. "

She held out her hand to me and I took it between both of mine. No wordof love had passed between us, but I felt that she knew and understood. It was one of the moments that come seldom in a lifetime, and then onlyin great crises, a moment of perfect understanding and trust. 

Then she drew her hand away and sat, erect and determined, her fingerslaced in her lap. As she talked the moon came up slowly and threw itsbright pathway across the water. Back of us, in the trees beyond the seawall, a sleepy bird chirruped drowsily, and a wave, larger and bolderthan its brothers, sped up the sand, bringing the moon's silver to ourvery feet. I bent toward the girl. 

"I am going to ask just one question. "

"Anything you like. " Her voice was almost dreary. "Was it because ofanything you are going to tell me that you refused Richey?"

She drew her breath in sharply. 

"No, " she said, without looking at me. "No. That was not the reason. "

CHAPTER XXVIII. ALISON'S STORY

She told her story evenly, with her eyes on the water, only now andthen, when I, too, sat looking seaward, I thought she glanced at mefurtively. And once, in the middle of it, she stopped altogether. 

"You don't realize it, probably, " she protested, "but you look like a--awar god. Your face is horrible. "

"I will turn my back, if it will help any, " I said stormily, "but if youexpect me to look anything but murderous, why, you don't know what I amgoing through with. That's all. "

The story of her meeting with the Curtis woman was brief enough. Theyhad met in Rome first, where Alison and her mother had taken a villa fora year. Mrs. Curtis had hovered on the ragged edges of society there, pleading the poverty of the south since the war as a reason for notgoing out more. There was talk of a brother, but Alison had not seenhim, and after a scandal which implicated Mrs. Curtis and a youngattache of the Austrian embassy, Alison had been forbidden to see thewoman. 

"The women had never liked her, anyhow, " she said. "She didunconventional things, and they are very conventional there. And theysaid she did not always pay her--her gambling debts. I didn't likethem. I thought they didn't like her because she was poor--and popular. Then--we came home, and I almost forgot her, but last spring, whenmother was not well--she had taken grandfather to the Riviera, and italways uses her up--we went to Virginia Hot Springs, and we met themthere, the brother, too, this time. His name was Sullivan, HarryPinckney Sullivan. "

"I know. Go on. "

"Mother had a nurse, and I was alone a great deal, and they were verykind to me. I--I saw a lot of them. The brother rather attracted me, partly--partly because he did not make love to me. He even seemed toavoid me, and I was piqued. I had been spoiled, I suppose. Most of theother men I knew had--had--"

"I know that, too, " I said bitterly, and moved away from her a trifle. I was brutal, but the whole story was a long torture. I think she knewwhat I was suffering, for she showed no resentment. 

"It was early and there were few people around--none that I cared about. And mother and the nurse played cribbage eternally, until I felt asthough the little pegs were driven into my brain. And when Mrs. Curtisarranged drives and picnics, I--I slipped away and went. I suppose youwon't believe me, but I had never done that kind of thing before, andI--well, I have paid up, I think. "

"What sort of looking chap was Sullivan?" I demanded. I had got up andwas pacing back and forward on the sand. I remember kicking savagely ata bit of water-soaked board that lay in my way. 

"Very handsome--as large as you are, but fair, and even more erect. "

I drew my shoulders up sharply. I am straight enough, but I was fairlysagging with jealous rage. 

"When mother began to get around, somebody told her that I had beengoing about with Mrs. Curtis and her brother, and we had a dreadfultime. I was dragged home like a bad child. Did anybody ever do that toyou?"

"Nobody ever cared. I was born an orphan, " I said, with a cheerlessattempt at levity. "Go on. "

"If Mrs. Curtis knew, she never said anything. She wrote me charmingletters, and in the summer, when they went to Cresson, she asked me tovisit her there. I was too proud to let her know that I could not gowhere I wished, and so--I sent Polly, my maid, to her aunt's in thecountry, pretended to go to Seal Harbor, and really went to Cresson. Yousee I warned you it would be an unpleasant story. "

I went over and stood in front of her. All the accumulated jealousy ofthe last few weeks had been fired by what she told me. If Sullivan hadcome across the sands just then, I think I would have strangled him withmy hands, out of pure hate. 

"Did you marry him?" I demanded. My voice sounded hoarse and strange inmy ears. "That's all I want to know. Did you marry him?"

"No. "

I drew a long breath. 

"You--cared about him?"

She hesitated. 

"No, " she said finally. "I did not care about him. "

I sat down on the edge of the boat and mopped my hot face. I washeartily ashamed of myself, and mingled with my abasement was a greatrelief. If she had not married him, and had not cared for him, nothingelse was of any importance. 

"I was sorry, of course, the moment the train had started, but I hadwired I was coming, and I could not go back, and then when I got there, the place was charming. There were no neighbors, but we fished and rodeand motored, and--it was moonlight, like this. "

I put my hand over both of hers, clasped in her lap. "I know, " Iacknowledged repentantly, "and--people do queer things when it ismoonlight. The moon has got me to-night, Alison. If I am a boor, remember that, won't you?"

Her fingers lay quiet under mine. "And so, " she went on with a littlesigh, "I began to think perhaps I cared. But all the time I felt thatthere was something not quite right. Now and then Mrs. Curtis would sayor do something that gave me a queer start, as if she had dropped a maskfor a moment. And there was trouble with the servants; they were almostinsolent. I couldn't understand. I don't know when it dawned on me thatthe old Baron Cavalcanti had been right when he said they were not mykind of people. But I wanted to get away, wanted it desperately. "

"Of course, they were not your kind, " I cried. "The man was married! Thegirl Jennie, a housemaid, was a spy in Mrs. Sullivan's employ. If he hadpretended to marry you I would have killed him! Not only that, but theman he murdered, Harrington, was his wife's father. And I'll seehim hang by the neck yet if it takes every energy and every penny Ipossess. "

I could have told her so much more gently, have broken the shockfor her; I have never been proud of that evening on the sand. I wasalternately a boor and a ruffian--like a hurt youngster who passes theblow that has hurt him on to his playmate, that both may bawl together. And now Alison sat, white and cold, without speech. 

"Married!" she said finally, in a small voice. "Why, I don't think itis possible, is it? I--I was on my way to Baltimore to marry him myself, when the wreck came. "

"But you said you didn't care for him!" I protested, my heavy masculinemind unable to jump the gaps in her story. And then, without theslightest warning, I realized that she was crying. She shook off my handand fumbled for her handkerchief, and failing to find it, she acceptedthe one I thrust into her wet fingers. 

Then, little by little, she told me from the handkerchief, a sordidstory of a motor trip in the mountains without Mrs. Curtis, of a lostroad and a broken car, and a rainy night when they--she and Sullivan, tramped eternally and did not get home. And of Mrs. Curtis, when theygot home at dawn, suddenly grown conventional and deeply shocked. Ofher own proud, half-disdainful consent to make possible the hackneyedcompromising situation by marrying the rascal, and then--of hisdisappearance from the train. It was so terrible to her, such aHeaven-sent relief to me, in spite of my rage against Sullivan, that Ilaughed aloud. At which she looked at me over the handkerchief. 

"I know it's funny, " she said, with a catch in her breath. "When I thinkthat I nearly married a murderer--and didn't--I cry for sheer joy. " Thenshe buried her face and cried again. 

"Please don't, " I protested unsteadily. "I won't be responsible if youkeep on crying like that. I may forget that I have a capital chargehanging over my head, and that I may be arrested at any moment. "

That brought her out of the handkerchief at once. "I meant to be sohelpful, " she said, "and I've thought of nothing but myself! There weresome things I meant to tell you. If Jennie was--what you say, then Iunderstand why she came to me just before I left. She had been packingmy things and she must have seen what condition I was in, for she cameover to me when I was getting my wraps on, to leave, and said, 'Don't doit, Miss West, I beg you won't do it; you'll be sorry ever after. ' Andjust then Mrs. Curtis came in and Jennie slipped out. "

"That was all?"

"No. As we went through the station the telegraph operator gave Har--Mr. Sullivan a message. He read it on the platform, and it excited himterribly. He took his sister aside and they talked together. He waswhite with either fear or anger--I don't know which. Then, when weboarded the train, a woman in black, with beautiful hair, who wasstanding on the car platform, touched him on the arm and then drew back. He looked at her and glanced away again, but she reeled as if he hadstruck her. "

"Then what?" The situation was growing clearer. 

"Mrs. Curtis and I had the drawing-room. I had a dreadful night, justsleeping a little now and then. I dreaded to see dawn come. It was to bemy wedding-day. When we found Harry had disappeared in the night, Mrs. Curtis was in a frenzy. Then--I saw his cigarette case in your hand. Ihad given it to him. You wore his clothes. The murder was discovered andyou were accused of it! What could I do? And then, afterward, when I sawhim asleep at the farmhouse, I--I was panic-stricken. I locked him inand ran. I didn't know why he did it, but--he had killed a man. "

Some one was calling Alison through a megaphone, from the veranda. Itsounded like Sam. "All-ee, " he called. "All-ee! I'm going to have someanchovies on toast! All-ee!" Neither of us heard. 

"I wonder, " I reflected, "if you would be willing to repeat a part ofthat story--just from the telegram on--to a couple of detectives, sayon Monday. If you would tell that, and--how the end of your necklace gotinto the sealskin bag--"

"My necklace!" she repeated. "But it isn't mine. I picked it up in thecar. "

"All-ee!" Sam again. "I see you down there. I'm making a julep!"

Alison turned and called through her hands. "Coming in a moment, Sam, "she said, and rose. "It must be very late: Sam is home. We would bettergo back to the house. "

"Don't, " I begged her. "Anchovies and juleps and Sam will go on forever, and I have you such a little time. I suppose I am only one of adozen or so, but--you are the only girl in the world. You know I loveyou, don't you, dear?"

Sam was whistling, an irritating bird call, over and over. She pursedher red lips and answered him in kind. It was more than I could endure. 

"Sam or no Sam, " I said firmly, "I am going to kiss you!"

But Sam's voice came strident through the megaphone. "Be good, you two, "he bellowed, "I've got the binoculars!" And so, under fire, we walkedsedately back to the house. My pulses were throbbing--the little swishof her dress beside me on the grass was pain and ecstasy. I had but toput out my hand to touch her, and I dared not. 

Sam, armed with a megaphone and field glasses, bent over the rail andwatched us with gleeful malignity. 

"Home early, aren't you?" Alison called, when we reached the steps. 

"Led a club when my partner had doubled no-trumps, and she fainted. Damn the heart convention!" he said cheerfully. "The others are not hereyet. "

Three hours later I went up to bed. I had not seen Alison alone again. The noise was at its height below, and I glanced down into the garden, still bright in the moonlight. Leaning against a tree, and staringinterestedly into the billiard room, was Johnson. 

CHAPTER XXIX. IN THE DINING-ROOM

That was Saturday night, two weeks after the wreck. The previous fivedays had been full of swift-following events--the woman in the housenext door, the picture in the theater of a man about to leap from thedoomed train, the dinner at the Dallases', and Richey's discovery thatAlison was the girl in the case. In quick succession had come our visitto the Carter place, the finding of the rest of the telegram, my seeingAlison there, and the strange interview with Mrs. Conway. The Cressontrip stood out in my memory for its serio-comic horrors and its one realthrill. Then--the discovery by the police of the seal-skin bag and thebit of chain; Hotchkiss producing triumphantly Stuart for Sullivan andhis subsequent discomfiture; McKnight at the station with Alison, andlater the confession that he was out of the running. 

And yet, when I thought it all over, the entire week and its events weretwo sides of a triangle that was narrowing rapidly to an apex, a point. And the said apex was at that moment in the drive below my window, resting his long legs by sitting on a carriage block, and smoking a pipethat made the night hideous. The sense of the ridiculous is very closeto the sense of tragedy. I opened my screen and whistled, and Johnsonlooked up and grinned. We said nothing. I held up a handful of cigars, he extended his hat, and when I finally went to sleep, it was to asoothing breeze that wafted in salt air and a faint aroma of goodtobacco. I was thoroughly tired, but I slept restlessly, dreaming oftwo detectives with Pittsburg warrants being held up by Hotchkiss at thepoint of a splint, while Alison fastened their hands with a chain thatwas broken and much too short. I was roused about dawn by a light rap atthe door, and, opening it, I found Forbes, in a pair of trousers and apajama coat. He was as pleasant as most fleshy people are when they haveto get up at night, and he said the telephone had been ringing for anhour, and he didn't know why somebody else in the blankety-blank housecouldn't have heard it. He wouldn't get to sleep until noon. 

As he was palpably asleep on his feet, I left him grumbling and went tothe telephone. It proved to be Richey, who had found me by the simpleexpedient of tracing Alison, and he was jubilant. 

"You'll have to come back, " he said. "Got a railroad schedule there?"

"I don't sleep with one in my pocket, " I retorted, "but if you'll holdthe line I'll call out the window to Johnson. He's probably got one. "'

"Johnson!" I could hear the laugh with which McKnight comprehended thesituation. He was still chuckling when I came back. 

"Train to Richmond at six-thirty A. M. , " I said. "What time is it now?"

"Four. Listen, Lollie. We've got him. Do you hear? Through the womanat Baltimore. Then the other woman, the lady of the restaurant"--he wasobviously avoiding names--"she is playing our cards for us. No--I don'tknow why, and I don't care. But you be at the Incubator to-night ateight o'clock. If you can't shake Johnson, bring him, bless him. "

To this day I believe the Sam Forbeses have not recovered from thesurprise of my unexpected arrival, my one appearance at dinner inGranger's clothes, and the note on my dresser which informed them thenext morning that I had folded my tents like the Arabs and silentlystole away. For at half after five Johnson and I, the former asuninquisitive as ever, were on our way through the dust to the station, three miles away, and by four that afternoon we were in Washington. Thejourney had been uneventful. Johnson relaxed under the influence of mytobacco, and spoke at some length on the latest improvements in gallows, dilating on the absurdity of cutting out the former free passes to seethe affair in operation. I remember, too, that he mentioned the curiousanomaly that permits a man about to be hanged to eat a hearty meal. Idid not enjoy my dinner that night. 

Before we got into Washington I had made an arrangement with Johnson tosurrender myself at two the following afternoon. Also, I had wired toAlison, asking her if she would carry out the contract she had made. Thedetective saw me home, and left me there. Mrs. Klopton received me withdignified reserve. The very tone in which she asked me when I would dinetold me that something was wrong. 

"Now--what is it, Mrs. Klopton?" I demanded finally, when she hadinformed me, in a patient and long-suffering tone, that she felt wornout and thought she needed a rest. 

"When I lived with Mr. Justice Springer, " she began acidly, hermending-basket in her hands, "it was an orderly, well-conductedhousehold. You can ask any of the neighbors. Meals were cooked and, what's more, they were eaten; there was none of this 'here one day andgone the next' business. "

"Nonsense, " I observed. "You're tired, that's all, Mrs. Klopton. And Iwish you would go out; I want to bathe. "

"That's not all, " she said with dignity, from the doorway. "Women comingand going here, women whose shoes I am not fit--I mean, women who arenot fit to touch my shoes--coming here as insolent as you please, andasking for you. "

"Good heavens!" I exclaimed. "What did you tell them--her, whichever itwas?"

"Told her you were sick in a hospital and wouldn't be out for a year!"she said triumphantly. "And when she said she thought she'd come in andwait for you, I slammed the door on her. "

"What time was she here?"

"Late last night. And she had a light-haired man across the street. Ifshe thought I didn't see him, she don't know me. " Then she closed thedoor and left me to my bath and my reflections. 

At five minutes before eight I was at the Incubator, where I foundHotchkiss and McKnight. They were bending over a table, on which layMcKnight's total armament--a pair of pistols, an elephant gun and an oldcavalry saber. 

"Draw up a chair and help yourself to pie, " he said, pointing to thearsenal. "This is for the benefit of our friend Hotchkiss here, who sayshe is a small man and fond of life. "

Hotchkiss, who had been trying to get the wrong end of a cartridge intothe barrel of one of the revolvers, straightened himself and mopped hisface. 

"We have desperate people to handle, " he said pompously, "and we mayneed desperate means. "

"Hotchkiss is like the small boy whose one ambition was to have peoplegrow ashen and tremble at the mention of his name, " McKnight jibed. Butthey were serious enough, both of them, under it all, and when they hadtold me what they planned, I was serious, too. 

"You're compounding a felony, " I remonstrated, when they had explained. "I'm not eager to be locked away, but, by Jove, to offer her the stolennotes in exchange for Sullivan!"

"We haven't got either of them, you know, " McKnight remonstrated, "andwe won't have, if we don't start. Come along, Fido, " to Hotchkiss. 

The plan was simplicity itself. According to Hotchkiss, Sullivan wasto meet Bronson at Mrs. Conway's apartment, at eight-thirty that night, with the notes. He was to be paid there and the papers destroyed. "Butjust before that interesting finale, " McKnight ended, "we will walk in, take the notes, grab Sullivan, and give the police a jolt that will putthem out of the count. "

I suppose not one of us, slewing around corners in the machine thatnight, had the faintest doubt that we were on the right track, or thatFate, scurvy enough before, was playing into our hands at last. LittleHotchkiss was in a state of fever; he alternately twitched and examinedthe revolver, and a fear that the two movements might be synchronouskept me uneasy. He produced and dilated on the scrap of pillow slip fromthe wreck, and showed me the stiletto, with its point in cotton battingfor safekeeping. And in the intervals he implored Richey not to makesuch fine calculations at the corners. 

We were all grave enough and very quiet, however, when we reached thelarge building where Mrs. Conway had her apartment. McKnight left thepower on, in case we might want to make a quick get-away, and Hotchkissgave a final look at the revolver. I had no weapon. Somehow it allseemed melodramatic to the verge of farce. In the doorway Hotchkisswas a half dozen feet ahead; Richey fell back beside me. He dropped hisaffectation of gayety, and I thought he looked tired. "Same old Sam, Isuppose?" he asked. 

"Same, only more of him. "

"I suppose Alison was there? How is she?" he inquired irrelevantly. 

"Very well. I did not see her this morning. "

Hotchkiss was waiting near the elevator. McKnight put his hand onmy arm. "Now, look here, old man, " he said, "I've got two arms and arevolver, and you've got one arm and a splint. If Hotchkiss is right, and there is a row, you crawl under a table. "

"The deuce I will!" I declared scornfully. 

We crowded out of the elevator at the fourth floor, and found ourselvesin a rather theatrical hallway of draperies and armor. It was veryquiet; we stood uncertainly after the car had gone, and looked at thetwo or three doors in sight. They were heavy, covered with metal, and sound proof. From somewhere above came the metallic accuracy of aplayer-piano, and through the open window we could hear--or feel--thethrob of the Cannonball's engine. 

"Well, Sherlock, " McKnight said, "what's the next move in the game? Isit our jump, or theirs? You brought us here. "

None of us knew just what to do next. No sound of conversationpenetrated the heavy doors. We waited uneasily for some minutes, andHotchkiss looked at his watch. Then he put it to his ear. 

"Good gracious!" he exclaimed, his head cocked on one side, "I believeit has stopped. I'm afraid we are late. "

We were late. My watch and Hotchkiss' agreed at nine o clock, and, withthe discovery that our man might have come and gone, our zest in theadventure began to flag. McKnight motioned us away from the door andrang the bell. There was no response, no sound within. He rang it twice, the last time long and vigorously, without result. Then he turned andlooked at us. 

"I don't half like this, " he said. "That woman is in; you heard me askthe elevator boy. For two cents I'd--"

I had seen it when he did. The door was ajar about an inch, and a narrowwedge of rose-colored light showed beyond. I pushed the door a littleand listened. Then, with both men at my heels, I stepped into theprivate corridor of the apartment and looked around. It was a squarereception hall, with rugs on the floor, a tall mahogany rack for hats, and a couple of chairs. A lantern of rose-colored glass and a desk lightover a writing-table across made the room bright and cheerful. It wasempty. 

None of us was comfortable. The place was full of feminine triflesthat made us feel the weakness of our position. Some such instinct madeMcKnight suggest division. 

"We look like an invading army, " he said. "If she's here alone, we willstartle her into a spasm. One of us could take a look around and--"

"What was that? Didn't you hear something?"

The sound, whatever it had been, was not repeated. We went awkwardly outinto the hall, very uncomfortable, all of us, and flipped a coin. Thechoice fell to me, which was right enough, for the affair was mine, primarily. 

"Wait just inside the door, " I directed, "and if Sullivan comes, oranybody that answers his description, grab him without ceremony and askhim questions afterwards. "

The apartment, save in the hallway, was unlighted. By one of thosefreaks of arrangement possible only in the modern flat, I found thekitchen first, and was struck a smart and unexpected blow by a swingingdoor. I carried a handful of matches, and by the time I had passedthrough a butler's pantry and a refrigerator room I was completely lostin the darkness. Until then the situation had been merely uncomfortable;suddenly it became grisly. From somewhere near came a long-sustainedgroan, followed almost instantly by the crash of something--glass orchina--on the floor. 

I struck a fresh match, and found myself in a narrow rear hallway. Behind me was the door by which I must have come; with a keen desireto get back to the place I had started from, I opened the door andattempted to cross the room. I thought I had kept my sense of direction, but I crashed without warning into what, from the resulting jangle, wasthe dining-table, probably laid for dinner. I cursed my stupidity ingetting into such a situation, and I cursed my nerves for making my handshake when I tried to strike a match. The groan had not been repeated. 

I braced myself against the table and struck the match sharply againstthe sole of my shoe. It flickered faintly and went out. And then, without the slightest warning, another dish went off the table. It fellwith a thousand splinterings; the very air seemed broken into crashingwaves of sound. I stood still, braced against the table, holding the redend of the dying match, and listened. I had not long to wait; the groancame again, and I recognized it, the cry of a dog in straits. I breathedagain. 

"Come, old fellow, " I said. "Come on, old man. Let's have a look atyou. "

I could hear the thud of his tail on the floor, but he did not move. Heonly whimpered. There is something companionable in the presence of adog, and I fancied this dog in trouble. Slowly I began to work my wayaround the table toward him. 

"Good boy, " I said, as he whimpered. "We'll find the light, which oughtto be somewhere or other around here, and then--"

I stumbled over something, and I drew back my foot almost instantly. "Did I step on you, old man?" I exclaimed, and bent to pat him. Iremember straightening suddenly and hearing the dog pad softly towardme around the table. I recall even that I had put the matches down andcould not find them. Then, with a bursting horror of the room and itscontents, of the gibbering dark around me, I turned and made for thedoor by which I had entered. 

I could not find it. I felt along the endless wainscoting, past miles ofwall. The dog was beside me, I think, but he was part and parcel now, tomy excited mind, with the Thing under the table. And when, after aeonsof search, I found a knob and stumbled into the reception hall, I was asnearly in a panic as any man could be. 

I was myself again in a second, and by the light from the hall I ledthe way back to the tragedy I had stumbled on. Bronson still sat at thetable, his elbows propped on it, his cigarette still lighted, burning ahole in the cloth. Partly under the table lay Mrs. Conway face down. Thedog stood over her and wagged his tail. 

McKnight pointed silently to a large copper ashtray, filled with ashesand charred bits of paper. 

"The notes, probably, " he said ruefully. "He got them after all, andburned them before her. It was more than she could stand. Stabbed himfirst and then herself. "

Hotchkiss got up and took off his hat. "They are dead, " he announcedsolemnly, and took his note-book out of his hatband. 

McKnight and I did the only thing we could think of--drove Hotchkiss andthe dog out of the room, and closed and locked the door. "It's a matterfor the police, " McKnight asserted. "I suppose you've got an officertied to you somewhere, Lawrence? You usually have. "

We left Hotchkiss in charge and went down-stairs. It was McKnight whofirst saw Johnson, leaning against a park railing across the street, andcalled him over. We told him in a few words what we had found, and hegrinned at me cheerfully. 

"After while, in a few weeks or months, Mr. Blakeley, " he said, "whenyou get tired of monkeying around with the blood-stain and finger-printspecialist up-stairs, you come to me. I've had that fellow you wantunder surveillance for ten days!"

CHAPTER XXX. FINER DETAILS

At ten minutes before two the following day, Monday, I arrived at myoffice. I had spent the morning putting my affairs in shape, and in atrip to the stable. The afternoon would see me either a free man or aprisoner for an indefinite length of time, and, in spite of Johnson'spromise to produce Sullivan, I was more prepared for the latter than theformer. 

Blobs was watching for me outside the door, and it was clear that he wasin a state of excitement bordering on delirium. He did nothing, however, save to tip me a wink that meant "As man to man, I'm for you. " I was toomuch engrossed either to reprove him or return the courtesy, but I heardhim follow me down the hall to the small room where we keep outgrownlawbooks, typewriter supplies and, incidentally, our wraps. I waswondering vaguely if I would ever hang my hat on its nail again, whenthe door closed behind me. It shut firmly, without any particular amountof sound, and I was left in the dark. I groped my way to it, irritably, to find it locked on the outside. I shook it frantically, and wasrewarded by a sibilant whisper through the keyhole. 

"Keep quiet, " Blobs was saying huskily. "You're in deadly peril. Thepolice are waiting in your office, three of 'em. I'm goin' to lock thewhole bunch in and throw the key out of the window. "

"Come back here, you imp of Satan!" I called furiously, but I could hearhim speeding down the corridor, and the slam of the outer office doorby which he always announced his presence. And so I stood there in thatridiculous cupboard, hot with the heat of a steaming September day, musty with the smell of old leather bindings, littered with brokenovershoes and handleless umbrellas. I was apoplectic with rage oneminute, and choked with laughter the next. It seemed an hour beforeBlobs came back. 

He came without haste, strutting with new dignity, and paused outside myprison door. 

"Well, I guess that will hold them for a while, " he remarkedcomfortably, and proceeded to turn the key. "I've got 'em fastened uplike sardines in a can!" he explained, working with the lock. "Gee whiz!you'd ought to hear 'em!" When he got his breath after the shaking Igave him, he began to splutter. "How'd I know?" he demanded sulkily. "You nearly broke your neck gettin' away the other time. And I haven'tgot the old key. It's lost. "

"Where's it lost?" I demanded, with another gesture toward his coatcollar. 

"Down the elevator shaft. " There was a gleam of indignant satisfactionthrough his tears of rage and humiliation. 

And so, while he hunted the key in the debris at the bottom of theshaft, I quieted his prisoners with the assurance that the lock hadslipped, and that they would be free as lords as soon as we could findthe janitor with a pass-key. Stuart went down finally and discoveredBlobs, with the key in his pocket, telling the engineer how he had triedto save me from arrest and failed. When Stuart came up he was almostcheerful, but Blobs did not appear again that day. 

Simultaneous with the finding of the key came Hotchkiss, and we wentin together. I shook hands with two men who, with Hotchkiss, made anot very animated group. The taller one, an oldish man, lean and hard, announced his errand at once. 

"A Pittsburg warrant?" I inquired, unlocking my cigar drawer. 

"Yes. Allegheny County has assumed jurisdiction, the exact localitywhere the crime was committed being in doubt. " He seemed to be thespokesman. The other, shorter and rotund, kept an amiable silence. "Wehope you will see the wisdom of waiving extradition, " he went on. "Itwill save time. "

"I'll come, of course, " I agreed. "The sooner the better. But I want youto give me an hour here, gentlemen. I think we can interest you. Have acigar?"

The lean man took a cigar; the rotund man took three, putting two in hispocket. 

"How about the catch of that door?" he inquired jovially. "Any dangerof it going off again?" Really, considering the circumstances, they wereremarkably cheerful. Hotchkiss, however, was not. He paced the flooruneasily, his hands under his coat-tails. The arrival of McKnightcreated a diversion; he carried a long package and a corkscrew, andshook hands with the police and opened the bottle with a single gesture. 

"I always want something to cheer on these occasions, " he said. "Where'sthe water, Blakeley? Everybody ready?" Then in French he toasted the twodetectives. 

"To your eternal discomfiture, " he said, bowing ceremoniously. "May yougo home and never come back! If you take Monsieur Blakeley with you, Ihope you choke. "

The lean man nodded gravely. "Prosit, " he said. But the fat one leanedback and laughed consumedly. 

Hotchkiss finished a mental synopsis of his position, and put down hisglass. "Gentlemen, " he said pompously, "within five minutes the man youwant will be here, a murderer caught in a net of evidence so fine that amosquito could not get through. "

The detectives glanced at each other solemnly. Had they not in theirpossession a sealskin bag containing a wallet and a bit of gold chain, which, by putting the crime on me, would leave a gap big enough forSullivan himself to crawl through?

"Why don't you say your little speech before Johnson brings the otherman, Lawrence?" McKnight inquired. "They won't believe you, but it willhelp them to understand what is coming. "

"You understand, of course, " the lean man put in gravely, "that what yousay may be used against you. "

"I'll take the risk, " I answered impatiently. 

It took some time to tell the story of my worse than useless trip toPittsburg, and its sequel. They listened gravely, without interruption. 

"Mr. Hotchkiss here, " I finished, "believes that the man Sullivan, whom we are momentarily expecting, committed the crime. Mr. McKnight isinclined to implicate Mrs. Conway, who stabbed Bronson and then herselflast night. As for myself, I am open to conviction. "

"I hope not, " said the stout detective quizzically. And then Alisonwas announced. My impulse to go out and meet her was forestalled by thedetectives, who rose when I did. McKnight, therefore, brought her in, and I met her at the door. 

"I have put you to a great deal of trouble, " I said contritely, when Isaw her glance around the room. "I wish I had not--"

"It is only right that I should come, " she replied, looking up at me. "I am the unconscious cause of most of it, I am afraid. Mrs. Dallas isgoing to wait in the outer office. "

I presented Hotchkiss and the two detectives, who eyed her withinterest. In her poise, her beauty, even in her gown, I fancy sherepresented a new type to them. They remained standing until she satdown. 

"I have brought the necklace, " she began, holding out a white-wrappedbox, "as you asked me to. "

I passed it, unopened, to the detectives. "The necklace from which wasbroken the fragment you found in the sealskin bag, " I explained. "MissWest found it on the floor of the car, near lower ten. "

"When did you find it?" asked the lean detective, bending forward. 

"In the morning, not long before the wreck. "

"Did you ever see it before?"

"I am not certain, " she replied. "I have seen one very much like it. "Her tone was troubled. She glanced at me as if for help, but I waspowerless. 

"Where?" The detective was watching her closely. At that moment therecame an interruption. The door opened without ceremony, and Johnsonushered in a tall, blond man, a stranger to all of us: I glanced atAlison; she was pale, but composed and scornful. She met the new-comer'seyes full, and, caught unawares, he took a hasty backward step. 

"Sit down, Mr. Sullivan, " McKnight beamed cordially. "Have a cigar? Ibeg your pardon, Alison, do you mind this smoke?"

"Not at all, " she said composedly. Sullivan had had a second to soundhis bearings. 

"No--no, thanks, " he mumbled. "If you will be good enough to explain--"

"But that's what you're to do, " McKnight said cheerfully, pulling up achair. "You've got the most attentive audience you could ask. These twogentlemen are detectives from Pittsburg, and we are all curious to knowthe finer details of what happened on the car Ontario two weeks ago, thenight your father-in-law was murdered. " Sullivan gripped the arms of hischair. "We are not prejudiced, either. The gentlemen from Pittsburg arebetting on Mr. Blakeley, over there. Mr. Hotchkiss, the gentleman by theradiator, is ready to place ten to one odds on you. And some of us havestill other theories. "

"Gentlemen, " Sullivan said slowly, "I give you my word of honor that Idid not kill Simon Harrington, and that I do not know who did. "

"Fiddlededee!" cried Hotchkiss, bustling forward. "Why, I can tellyou--" But McKnight pushed him firmly into a chair and held him there. 

"I am ready to plead guilty to the larceny, " Sullivan went on. "I tookMr. Blakeley's clothes, I admit. If I can reimburse him in any way forthe inconvenience-"

The stout detective was listening with his mouth open. "Do you meanto say, " he demanded, "that you got into Mr. Blakeley's berth, as hecontends, took his clothes and forged notes, and left the train beforethe wreck?"

"Yes. "

"The notes, then?"

"I gave them to Bronson yesterday. Much good they did him!" bitterly. We were all silent for a moment. The two detectives were adjustingthemselves with difficulty to a new point of view; Sullivan was lookingdejectedly at the floor, his hands hanging loose between his knees. I was watching Alison; from where I stood, behind her, I could almosttouch the soft hair behind her ear. 

"I have no intention of pressing any charge against you, " I said withforced civility, for my hands were itching to get at him, "if you willgive us a clear account of what happened on the Ontario that night. "

Sullivan raised his handsome, haggard head and looked around at me. "I've seen you before, haven't I?" he asked. "Weren't you an uninvitedguest at the Laurels a few days--or nights--ago? The cat, you remember, and the rug that slipped?"

"I remember, " I said shortly. He glanced from me to Alison and quicklyaway. 

"The truth can't hurt me, " he said, "but it's devilish unpleasant. Alison, you know all this. You would better go out. "

His use of her name crazed me. I stepped in front of her and stood overhim. "You will not bring Miss West into the conversation, " I threatened, "and she will stay if she wishes. "

"Oh, very well, " he said with assumed indifference. Hotchkiss just thenescaped from Richey's grasp and crossed the room. 

"Did you ever wear glasses?" he asked eagerly. 

"Never. " Sullivan glanced with some contempt at mine. 

"I'd better begin by going back a little, " he went on sullenly. "Isuppose you know I was married to Ida Harrington about five years ago. She was a good girl, and I thought a lot of her. But her father opposedthe marriage--he'd never liked me, and he refused to make any sort ofsettlement. 

"I had thought, of course, that there would be money, and it was abad day when I found out I'd made a mistake. My sister was wild withdisappointment. We were pretty hard up, my sister and I. "

I was watching Alison. Her hands were tightly clasped in her lap, andshe was staring out of the window at the cheerless roof below. She hadset her lips a little, but that was all. 

"You understand, of course, that I'm not defending myself, " went on thesullen voice. "The day came when old Harrington put us both out of thehouse at the point of a revolver, and I threatened--I suppose you knowthat, too--I threatened to kill him. 

"My sister and I had hard times after that. We lived on the continentfor a while. I was at Monte Carlo and she was in Italy. She met a younglady there, the granddaughter of a steel manufacturer and an heiress, and she sent for me. When I got to Rome the girl was gone. Last winter Iwas all in--social secretary to an Englishman, a wholesale grocer witha new title, but we had a row, and I came home. I went out to the Heatonboys' ranch in Wyoming, and met Bronson there. He lent me money, andI've been doing his dirty work ever since. "

Sullivan got up then and walked slowly forward and back as he talked, his eyes on the faded pattern of the office rug. 

"If you want to live in hell, " he said savagely, "put yourself inanother man's power. Bronson got into trouble, forging John Gilmore'sname to those notes, and in some way he learned that a man was bringingthe papers back to Washington on the Flier. He even learned the numberof his berth, and the night before the wreck, just as I was boarding thetrain, I got a telegram. "

Hotchkiss stepped forward once more importantly. "Which read, I think:'Man with papers in lower ten, car seven. Get them. '"

Sullivan looked at the little man with sulky blue eyes. 

"It was something like that, anyhow. But it was a nasty business, and itmade matters worse that he didn't care that a telegram which must passthrough a half dozen hands was more or less incriminating to me. 

"Then, to add to the unpleasantness of my position, just after weboarded the train--I was accompanying my sister and this young lady, Miss West--a woman touched me on the sleeve, and I turned to face--mywife!

"That took away my last bit of nerve. I told my sister, and you canunderstand she was in a bad way, too. We knew what it meant. Ida hadheard that I was going--"

He stopped and glanced uneasily at Alison. 

"Go on, " she said coldly. "It is too late to shield me. The time to havedone that was when I was your guest. "

"Well, " he went on, his eyes turned carefully away from my face, whichmust have presented certainly anything but a pleasant sight. "Miss Westwas going to do me the honor to marry me, and--"

"You scoundrel!" I burst forth, thrusting past Alison West's chair. "You--you infernal cur!"

One of the detectives got up and stood between us. "You must remember, Mr. Blakeley, that you are forcing this story from this man. Thesedetails are unpleasant, but important. You were going to marry thisyoung lady, " he said, turning to Sullivan, "although you already had awife living?"

"It was my sister's plan, and I was in a bad way for money. If I couldmarry, secretly, a wealthy girl and go to Europe, it was unlikely thatIda--that is, Mrs. Sullivan--would hear of it. 

"So it was more than a shock to see my wife on the train, and to realizefrom her face that she knew what was going on. I don't know yet, unlesssome of the servants--well, never mind that. 

"It meant that the whole thing had gone up. Old Harrington had carrieda gun for me for years, and the same train wouldn't hold both of us. Ofcourse, I thought that he was in the coach just behind ours. "

Hotchkiss was leaning forward now, his eyes narrowed, his thin lipsdrawn to a line. 

"Are you left-handed, Mr. Sullivan?" he asked. 

Sullivan stopped in surprise. 

"No, " he said gruffly. "Can't do anything with my left hand. " Hotchkisssubsided, crestfallen but alert. "I tore up that cursed telegram, but Iwas afraid to throw the scraps away. Then I looked around for lower ten. It was almost exactly across--my berth was lower seven, and it was, ofcourse, a bit of exceptional luck for me that the car was number seven. "

"Did you tell your sister of the telegram from Bronson?" I asked. 

"No. It would do no good, and she was in a bad way without that to makeher worse. "

"Your sister was killed, think. " The shorter detective took a smallpackage from his pocket and held it in his hand, snapping the rubberband which held it. 

"Yes, she was killed, " Sullivan said soberly. "What I say now can do herno harm. "

He stopped to push back the heavy hair which dropped over his forehead, and went on more connectedly. 

"It was late, after midnight, and we went at once to our berths. Iundressed, and then I lay there for an hour, wondering how I was goingto get the notes. Some one in lower nine was restless and wide awake, but finally became quiet. 

"The man in ten was sleeping heavily. I could hear his breathing, and itseemed to be only a question of getting across and behind the curtainsof his berth without being seen. After that, it was a mere matter ofquiet searching. 

"The car became very still. I was about to try for the other berth, whensome one brushed softly past, and I lay back again. 

"Finally, however, when things had been quiet for a time, I got up, andafter looking along the aisle, I slipped behind the curtains of lowerten. You understand, Mr. Blakeley, that I thought you were in lower ten, with the notes. "

I nodded curtly. 

"I'm not trying to defend myself, " he went on. "I was ready to steal thenotes--I had to. But murder!"

He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. 

"Well, I slipped across and behind the curtains. It was very still. Theman in ten didn't move, although my heart was thumping until I thoughthe would hear it. 

"I felt around cautiously. It was perfectly dark, and I came across abit of chain, about as long as my finger. It seemed a queer thing tofind there, and it was sticky, too. "

He shuddered, and I could see Alison's hands clenching and unclenchingwith the strain. 

"All at once it struck me that the man was strangely silent, and I thinkI lost my nerve. Anyhow, I drew the curtains open a little, and let thelight fall on my hands. They were red, blood-red. "

He leaned one hand on the back of the chair, and was silent for amoment, as though he lived over again the awful events of that more thanawful night. 

The stout detective had let his cigar go out; he was still drawing at itnervously. Richey had picked up a paper-weight and was tossing it fromhand to hand; when it slipped and fell to the floor, a startled shudderpassed through the room. 

"There was something glittering in there, " Sullivan resumed, "and onimpulse I picked it up. Then I dropped the curtains and stumbled back tomy own berth. "

"Where you wiped your hands on the bed-clothing and stuck the dirkinto the pillow. " Hotchkiss was seeing his carefully built structurecrumbling to pieces, and he looked chagrined. 

"I suppose I did--I'm not very clear about what happened then. But whenI rallied a little I saw a Russia leather wallet lying in the aislealmost at my feet, and, like a fool, I stuck it, with the bit of chain, into my bag. 

"I sat there, shivering, for what seemed hours. It was still perfectlyquiet, except for some one snoring. I thought that would drive me crazy. 

"The more I thought of it the worse things looked. The telegram was thefirst thing against me--it would put the police on my track at once, when it was discovered that the man in lower ten had been killed. 

"Then I remembered the notes, and I took out the wallet and opened it. "

He stopped for a minute, as if the recalling of the next occurrence wasalmost beyond him. 

"I took out the wallet, " he said simply, "and opening it, held it to thelight. In gilt letters was the name, Simon Harrington. "

The detectives were leaning forward now, their eyes on his face. 

"Things seemed to whirl around for a while. I sat there almostparalyzed, wondering what this new development meant for me. 

"My wife, I knew, would swear I had killed her father; nobody would belikely to believe the truth. 

"Do you believe me now?" He rooked around at us defiantly. "I am tellingthe absolute truth, and not one of you believes me!

"After a bit the man in lower nine got up and walked along the aisletoward the smoking compartment. I heard him go, and, leaning from myberth, watched him out of sight. 

"It was then I got the idea of changing berths with him, getting intohis clothes, and leaving the train. I give you my word I had no idea ofthrowing suspicion on him. "

Alison looked scornfully incredulous, but I felt that the man wastelling the truth. 

"I changed the numbers of the berths, and it worked well. I got intothe other man's berth, and he came back to mine. The rest was easy. Idressed in his clothes--luckily, they fitted--and jumped the train notfar from Baltimore, just before the wreck. "

"There is something else you must clear up, " I said. "Why did you tryto telephone me from M-, and why did you change your mind about themessage?"

He looked astounded. 

"You knew I was at M-?" he stammered. 

"Yes, we traced you. What about the message?"

"Well, it was this way: of course, I did not know your name, Mr. Blakeley. The telegram said, 'Man with papers in lower ten, car seven, "and after I had made what I considered my escape, I began to think I hadleft the man in my berth in a bad way. 

"He would probably be accused of the crime. So, although when the wreckoccurred I supposed every one connected with the affair had been killed, there was a chance that you had survived. I've not been of much account, but I didn't want a man to swing because I'd left him in my place. Besides, I began to have a theory of my own. 

"As we entered the car a tall, dark woman passed us, with a glass ofwater in her hand, and I vaguely remembered her. She was amazingly likeBlanche Conway. 

"If she, too, thought the man with the notes was in lower ten, itexplained a lot, including that piece of a woman's necklace. She was afury, Blanche Conway, capable of anything. "

"Then why did you countermand that message?" I asked curiously. 

"When I got to the Carter house, and got to bed--I had sprained my anklein the jump--I went through the alligator bag I had taken from lowernine. When I found your name, I sent the first message. Then, soonafter, I came across the notes. It seemed too good to be true, and I wascrazy for fear the message had gone. 

"At first I was going to send them to Bronson; then I began to see whatthe possession of the notes meant to me. It meant power over Bronson, money, influence, everything. He was a devil, that man. "

"Well, he's at home now, " said McKnight, and we were glad to laugh andrelieve the tension. 

Alison put her hand over her eyes, as if to shut out the sight of theman she had so nearly married, and I furtively touched one of the softlittle curls that nestled at the back of her neck. 

"When I was able to walk, " went on the sullen voice, "I came at once toWashington. I tried to sell the notes to Bronson, but he was almost atthe end of his rope. Not even my threat to send them back to you, Mr. Blakeley, could make him meet my figure. He didn't have the money. "

McKnight was triumphant. 

"I think you gentlemen will see reason in my theory now, " he said. "Mrs. Conway wanted the notes to force a legal marriage, I suppose?"

"Yes. "

The detective with the small package carefully rolled off the rubberband, and unwrapped it. I held my breath as he took out, first, theRussia leather wallet. 

"These things, Mr. Blakeley, we found in the seal-skin bag Mr. Sullivansays he left you. This wallet, Mr. Sullivan--is this the one you foundon the floor of the car?"

Sullivan opened it, and, glancing at the name inside, "SimonHarrington, " nodded affirmatively. 

"And this, " went on the detective--"this is a piece of gold chain?"

"It seems to be, " said Sullivan, recoiling at the blood-stained end. 

"This, I believe, is the dagger. " He held it up, and Alison gave a faintcry of astonishment and dismay. Sullivan's face grew ghastly, and he satdown weakly on the nearest chair. 

The detective looked at him shrewdly, then at Alison's agitated face. 

"Where have you seen this dagger before, young lady?" he asked, kindlyenough. 

"Oh, don't ask me!" she gasped breathlessly, her eyes turned onSullivan. "It's--it's too terrible!"

"Tell him, " I advised, leaning over to her. "It will be found out later, anyhow. "

"Ask him, " she said, nodding toward Sullivan. The detective unwrappedthe small box Alison had brought, disclosing the trampled necklace andbroken chain. With clumsy fingers he spread it on the table and fittedinto place the bit of chain. There could be no doubt that it belongedthere. 

"Where did you find that chain?" Sullivan asked hoarsely, looking forthe first time at Alison. 

"On the floor, near the murdered man's berth. "

"Now, Mr. Sullivan, " said the detective civilly, "I believe you cantell us, in the light of these two exhibits, who really did murder SimonHarrington. "

Sullivan looked again at the dagger, a sharp little bit of steel witha Florentine handle. Then he picked up the locket and pressed a hiddenspring under one of the cameos. Inside, very neatly engraved, was thename and a date. 

"Gentlemen, " he said, his face ghastly, "it is of no use for me toattempt a denial. The dagger and necklace belonged to my sister, AliceCurtis!"

CHAPTER XXXI. AND ONLY ONE ARM

Hotchkiss was the first to break the tension. 

"Mr. Sullivan, " he asked suddenly, "was your sister left-handed?"

"Yes. "

Hotchkiss put away his note-book and looked around with an air oftriumphant vindication. It gave us a chance to smile and look relieved. After all, Mrs. Curtis was dead. It was the happiest solution of theunhappy affair. McKnight brought Sullivan some whisky, and he braced upa little. 

"I learned through the papers that my wife was in a Baltimore hospital, and yesterday I ventured there to see her. I felt if she would help meto keep straight, that now, with her father and my sister both dead, wemight be happy together. 

"I understand now what puzzled me then. It seemed that my sister wentinto the next car and tried to make my wife promise not to interfere. But Ida--Mrs. Sullivan--was firm, of course. She said her father hadpapers, certificates and so on, that would stop the marriage at once. 

"She said, also, that her father was in our car, and that there would bethe mischief to pay in the morning. It was probably when my sister triedto get the papers that he awakened, and she had to do--what she did. "

It was over. Save for a technicality or two, I was a free man. Alisonrose quietly and prepared to go; the men stood to let her pass, saveSullivan who sat crouched in his chair, his face buried in his hands. Hotchkiss, who had been tapping the desk with his pencil, looked upabruptly and pointed the pencil at me. 

"If all this is true, and I believe it is, --then who was in the housenext door, Blakeley, the night you and Mr. Johnson searched? Youremember, you said it was a woman's hand at the trap door. "

I glanced hastily at Johnson, whose face was impassive. He had his handon the knob of the door and he opened it before he spoke. 

"There were a number of scratches on Mrs. Conway's right hand, " heobserved to the room in general. "Her wrist was bandaged and badlybruised. "

He went out then, but he turned as he closed the door and threw at me aglance of half-amused, half-contemptuous tolerance. 

McKnight saw Alison, with Mrs. Dallas, to their carriage, and came backagain. The gathering in the office was breaking up. Sullivan, lookingworn and old, was standing by the window, staring at the broken necklacein his hand. When he saw me watching him, he put it on the desk andpicked up his hat. 

"If I can not do anything more--" he hesitated. 

"I think you have done about enough, " I replied grimly, and he went out. 

I believe that Richey and Hotchkiss led me somewhere to dinner, andthat, for fear I would be lonely without him, they sent for Johnson. And I recall a spirited discussion in which Hotchkiss told the detectivethat he could manage certain cases, but that he lacked induction. Richeyand I were mainly silent. My thoughts would slip ahead to that hour, later in the evening, when I should see Alison again. 

I dressed in savage haste finally, and was so particular about my tiethat Mrs. Klopton gave up in despair. 

"I wish, until your arm is better, that you would buy the kind thathooks on, " she protested, almost tearfully. "I'm sure they look verynice, Mr. Lawrence. My late husband always--"

"That's a lover's knot you've tied this time, " I snarled, and, jerkingopen the bow knot she had so painfully executed, looked out thewindow for Johnson--until I recalled that he no longer belonged in myperspective. I ended by driving frantically to the club and gettingGeorge to do it. 

I was late, of course. The drawing-room and library at the Dallas homewere empty. I could hear billiard balls rolling somewhere, and I turnedthe other way. I found Alison at last on the balcony, sitting much asshe had that night on the beach, --her chin in her hands, her eyes fixedunseeingly on the trees and lights of the square across. She was evenwhistling a little, softly. But this time the plaintiveness was gone. It was a tender little tune. She did not move, as I stood beside her, looking down. And now, when the moment had come, all the thousand andone things I had been waiting to say forsook me, precipitately beata retreat, and left me unsupported. The arc-moon sent little fugitivelights over her hair, her eyes, her gown. 

"Don't--do that, " I said unsteadily. "You--you know what I want to dowhen you whistle!"

She glanced up at me, and she did not stop. She did not stop! She wenton whistling softly, a bit tremulously. And straightway I forgot thestreet, the chance of passers-by, the voices in the house behind us. "The world doesn't hold any one but you, " I said reverently. "It is ourworld, sweetheart. I love you. "

And I kissed her. 

A boy was whistling on the pavement below. I let her go reluctantly andsat back where I could see her. 

"I haven't done this the way I intended to at all, " I confessed. "Inbooks they get things all settled, and then kiss the lady. "

"Settled?" she inquired. 

"Oh, about getting married and that sort of thing, " I explained withelaborate carelessness. "We--we could go down to Bermuda--or--orJamaica, say in December. "

She drew her hand away and faced me squarely. 

"I believe you are afraid!" she declared. "I refuse to marry you unlessyou propose properly. Everybody does it. And it is a woman's privilege:she wants to have that to look back to. "

"Very well, " I consented with an exaggerated sigh. "If you will promisenot to think I look like an idiot, I shall do it, knee and all. "

I had to pass her to close the door behind us, but when I kissed heragain she protested that we were not really engaged. 

I turned to look down at her. "It is a terrible thing, " I saidexultantly, "to love a girl the way I love you, and to have only onearm!" Then I closed the door. 

From across the street there came a sharp crescendo whistle, and avaguely familiar figure separated itself from the park railing. 

"Say, " he called, in a hoarse whisper, "shall I throw the key down theelevator shaft?"