visiting cards and formal introductions was beckoning us in. Miss West put on her shoe.
We said little on the car. The few passengers stared at us frankly, and discussed the wreck, emphasizing its horrors. The girl did not seem to hear. Once she turned to me with the quick, unexpected movement that was one of her charms.
"I do not wish my mother to know I was in the accident," she said. "Will you please not tell Richey about having met me?"
I gave my promise, of course. Again, when we were almost into Baltimore, she asked to examine the gun-metal cigarette case, and sat silent with it in her hands, while I told of the early morning's events on the Ontario.
"So you see," I finished, "this grip, everything I have on, belongs to a fellow named Sullivan. He probably left the train before the wreck, perhaps just after the murder."
"And so—you think he committed the—the crime?" Her eyes were on the cigarette case.
"Naturally," I said. "A man doesn't jump off a Pullman car in the middle of the night in
