elivered to Eaton in
his berth.

"That's the one we had the fuss over in the dining car," Eaton
volunteered, as the conductor began fitting the scraps together.

"You forgot to completely destroy it, eh?"

"What was the use?" Eaton took up the other's point of view. "You had
a copy anyway."

"You might have wanted to get rid of it since the discovery of the
murder."

"Murder?"

"I guess it's the same thing." The conductor dropped the scraps into
an envelope and put it in his pocket. He examined the coat for a
tailor's name.

"That coat was copied by a Chinaman in Amoy from the coat I had before.
Before the new one was made, I took out the name of the other tailor so
it wouldn't be copied too," Eaton remarked in explanation of the lack
of any mark. Connery handed back the coat, went out and locked the
door behind him.

Eaton opened his traveling bag and checked over the contents. He could
tell that everything in it had been again carefully examined, but
nothing more had been taken except the small Chinese-English
dictionary; that was now gone. There had been nothing in the bag to
betray any other identity than the one he had given. Eaton put the bag
away and went back to his seat by the window.

The clear, bright day was drawing toward its dusk: there had been no
movement or attempt to move the train all day. About six o'clock, as
people began passing forward to the diner, Connery appeared again with
a waiter from the dining car bearing a tray with dinner.

"This is 'on' the Department of Justice, Conductor?" Eaton tried to ask
lightly.

"The check is a dollar twenty. If you want this, I'll charge it
against your money which I have."

"Make it a dollar, forty-five then," Eaton directed. "Remember the
waiter."

The black boy grinned and spread the table.

"How is Mr.--" Eaton began.

"Dorne?" Connery put in sharply.

"Thanks," said Eaton. "I understand. How is he?"

Connery did not answer, and with the waiter left him, locking him in
again. At ten, Connery came once more with the porter of the car, and
the conductor stood by silently while the porter made up the berth.
Eaton went to bed with the car absolutely still, with only the wall of
snow outside his window and no evidence of any one about but a subdued
step occasionally passing his door. Though he had had nothing to do
all the long, lonely hours of the evening but to think, Eaton lay awake
thinking. He understood definitely n