come forth from his covert until all were
out of the way. Then, too, he was glad of a little longer time to think:
he did not want to tell the colonel the result of his morning
investigations.

To begin with: the watchman, the driver, and the two men whom he had
questioned were all of an opinion as to the character of the stranger:
"he was a military man." The passengers described his voice as that of a
man of education and social position; the driver and passengers declared
his walk and carriage to be that of a soldier: he was taller, they said,
than the tall, stalwart Saxon captain, but by no means so heavily built.
As to age, they could not tell: his beard was black and curly,--no gray
hairs; his movements were quick and elastic; but his eyes were hidden by
those colored glasses, and his forehead by the slouch of that
broad-brimmed felt hat.

At the station, while awaiting the answer to his despatch, Armitage had
questioned the agent as to whether any man of that description had
arrived by the night train from the north. He had seen none, he said,
but there was Larsen over at the post-office store, who came down on
that train; perhaps he could tell. Oddly enough, Mr. Larsen recalled
just such a party,--tall, slim, dark, dark-bearded, with blue glasses
and dark hat and clothes,--but he was bound for Lakeville, the station
beyond, and he remained in the car when he, Larsen, got off. Larsen
remembered the man well, because he sat in the rear corner of the
smoker and had nothing to say to anybody, but kept reading a newspaper;
and the way he came to take note of him was that while standing with two
friends at that end of the car they happened to be right around the man.
The Saturday evening train from the city is always crowded with people
from the river towns who have been up to market or the _matinees_, and
even the smoker was filled with standing men until they got some thirty
miles down. Larsen wanted to light a fresh cigar, and offered one to
each of his friends: then it was found they had no matches, and one of
them, who had been drinking a little and felt jovial, turned to the dark
stranger and asked him for a light, and the man, without speaking,
handed out a little silver match-box. It was just then that the
conductor came along, and Larsen saw his ticket. It was a "round trip"
to Lakeville: he was evidently going there for a visit, and therefore,
said Larsen, he didn't get off at Sablon Station, which was six