the effort.

"I had a bottle of dope I'm supposed to take to help me sleep; must have
left it in my bag. Will you poke the button, please?"

"Can't I get it for you?" asked Archie.

"You are very kind. It's the small satchel--a lot of stuff in it all
mixed up. A bottle about as long as your hand."

Opening the bag in Congdon's berth Archie's hand fell upon a photograph
that lay on top. The face swam before his eyes and he pitched forward in
his agitation, bumping his head viciously against the window. It was a
photograph of Isabel Perry, an Isabel somewhat younger than the girl he
knew, but Isabel--indubitably Isabel! Another dive into the bag's
recesses brought up the photograph of Edith Congdon that had been
snatched from the frame in the Bailey Harbor cottage. This was
explicable enough, but the likeness of Isabel in Congdon's satchel was
utterly inexplicable and astounding. He groped for the bottle and crept
back to the smoking compartment.

"That's right; thanks. One teaspoonful in water if you don't mind. This
is really quite unpardonable. You are very good to bother with me; I'd
counted on the porter's help. Had a trained nurse for a while but you
can't go traveling over the country with a nurse, and the woman had
begun to bore me to death. I'd rather die than have doctors and nurses
trailing me about."

"They're odious," Archie assented. "There! Now have a cigarette to kill
the taste."

"Good idea! One more and I'll turn in."

A cigarette is the most insignificant of peace offerings, and yet Archie
experienced a pleasurable thrill as Putney Congdon accepted one from his
case. They were very good cigarettes, of a brand with which Archie had
supplied himself generously at Tiffin and Congdon expressed his approval
of them.

Congdon, the custodian of a photograph of Isabel Perry, demanded a more
careful inspection, and Archie studied him with renewed interest. Isabel
had in no way indicated that she knew Congdon; it was Mrs. Congdon that
she was trying to serve, and Isabel was hardly a girl to bestow her
photograph upon a married man. Congdon had no business with the
photograph and Archie bitterly resented its presence in the man's
luggage.

He jumped when Congdon announced that he was ready to turn in, followed
him to the berth, and helped him to undress, even touching the wounded
shoulder.

"That little scratch there's coming along all right now, but the bone's
sore; suppose I'll feel weather change