minutes. We'll make some of it up before
morning."

Once more under way, Quin dropped into a troubled sleep. He dreamed that
he was pursuing a Hun over miles of barbed-wire entanglements; but when
he overtook him and forced him to the ground, the face under the steel
helmet was the smiling, supercilious face of Harold Phipps. He woke up
with a start and stretched his cold limbs. The black square of the window
had turned to gray; arrows of rain shot diagonally across it. He realized
for the first time that he had neither hat nor overcoat, but he did not
care. In ten minutes more he would be in Chicago, in the same city with
Eleanor.

Notwithstanding the fact that it was pouring rain when the train pulled
into the station, Quin stood on the lowest step of the platform, ready to
alight.

"Say, young fellow, you forgot your hat," said a man behind him.

"Didn't have any," answered Quin.

"I got an extra cap if you want it," offered the man obligingly.

Quin, already on the platform, caught it as the man tossed it out to him.
Dashing through the depot, he hurled himself into a taxi.

"Monon Station!" he shouted, "and drive like the devil."

Just what kind of chauffeur the devil is has never been demonstrated, but
if that taxi-driver, urged on by Quin, was his counterpart, it is safe to
infer that there are no traffic laws in Hades. In spite of the fact that
the streets were like glass from the driving rain, and the wind-shield a
gray blur, in spite of the fact that a tire went flat on a rear wheel,
that decrepit old taxi rose to the occasion and made the transit in
record time.

Arrived at the station, Quin thrust a bill into the driver's hand and
dashed down the steps to the lower level. In answer to his frenzied
inquiry he was told that the Express had come in two hours before and
that the passengers had probably all left the sleeper by this time.

Nothing daunted, he rushed out to the tracks and accosted a porter who
was sweeping out the rear coach.

"Yas, sir, this is it," answered the negro. "Young lady? Yas, sir; there
was five or six of 'em on board last night. Pretty? Yas, sir, they was
all pretty--all but one, and she wasn't so bad looking."

"Did one of them get a telegram in the night or this morning?"

The porter's face brightened. "Yas, sir. Boy come through soon as we got
in. Had a wire for young lady in lower six."

"Do you know what time she left the car?"

"About half hour ago, I should say