liar in his
behavior, except the pointed manner in which he passed the chair by
Minnie's side, and took the one by herself. This seemed abnormal to
Mrs. Hunter, whose egotism had its center in her daughter; but those
who remembered the respectful terror with which he regarded women
between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five failed to see exceptional
conduct in this. His lawyer, Judge Blodgett, with whom he went into
the buffet at about seven, found him in conversation with these two
ladies.

"He seemed embarrassed," said the judge, "and was blushing. Mrs.
Hunter was explaining the new style in ladies' figures, and asking him
if he didn't think Minnie was getting much plumper. As soon as he saw
me he yelled: 'Hello, Blodgett! Come into the buffet! I want to see
you about some legal matters.' He excused himself to the ladies, and
we went into the buffet."

"What legal matters did he place before you?" said his interlocutor.

"Two bottles of beer," said the judge, "and a box of cigars. Then he
talked Browning to me until 9:03, when he got off at Elm Springs
Junction, to take the Limited north. He was wrong on Browning, but
otherwise all right."

It was, therefore, at 9:03, or 9:05 (for the engineer's report showed
the train two minutes late out of Elm Springs Junction), that Florian
Amidon became the sole occupant of this remote country railway
platform. He sat on a trunkful of photographer's supplies, with a
suit-case and a leather bag at his back. It was the evening of June
twenty-seventh, 1896. All about the lonely station the trees crowded
down to the right of way, and rustled in a gentle evening breeze.
Somewhere off in the wood, his ear discerned the faint hoot of an owl.
Across the track in a pool under the shadow of the semaphore, he heard
the full orchestra of the frogs, and saw reflected in the water the
last exquisite glories of expiring day lamped by one bright star.
Leaning back, he partly closed his eyelids, and wondered why so many
rays came from the star--with the vague wonder of drowsiness, which
comes because it has been in the habit of coming from one's earliest
childhood. The star divided into two, and all its beams swam about
while his gaze remained fixed, and nothing seemed quite in the focus of
his vision.

Putting out his hand, presently, he touched a window, damp with vapor
and very cold. On the other side he felt a coarse curtain, and where
the semaphore stood, appeared a pe