of transparent
paper 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 a
pin--needle--anything--"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Somebody on the edge of the group asserted that hereafter he would
travel 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 her
distinctly. "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 been
robbed. Do you know anything of the man who did it?"

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

"They fit