atch in her voice;
her gaze still fixed on the cigarette case.

"Then you haven't heard the rest of the tragedy?" I asked, holding out
the 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. The
conductor came directly toward me, tugging as he came at his bristling
gray mustache.

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

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

"I'm afraid the breakfast will have to wait," he replied. "I won't keep
you 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 the
girl; "but don't despair; there's breakfast somewhere."

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

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

As we pushed our way through the group, I fancied that it closed around
me ominously. The conductor said nothing, but led the way without
ceremony 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; these
are confoundedly tight."

Nobody spoke, and I fell silent, too. For one of the pillows had been
turned over, and the under side of the white case was streaked with
brownish stains. I think it was a perceptible time before I realized
that the stains were blood, and that the faces around were filled with
suspicion and distrust.

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

"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 know
anything about it!"

The amateur detective elbowed his way in. He had a scrap