tainly been murdered," Connery agreed. "This is Doctor Douglas Sinclair, a Chicago surgeon. I called him just now to make an examination; but since Mr. Dorne seems to have been dead for some time, I waited for you before moving the body. You can tell,"—Connery avoided mention of President Jarvis' name,—"tell any one who asks you, Mr. Avery, that you saw him just as he was found."
He looked down again at the form in the berth, and Avery's gaze followed his; then, abruptly, it turned away. Avery stood clinging to the curtain, his eyes darting from one to another of the three men.
"As he was found? When?" he demanded. "Who found him that way? When? How?"
"I found him so," Connery answered.
Avery said nothing more.
"Will you start your examination now, Dr. Sinclair," Connery suggested. "No—I'll ask you to wait a minute."
Noises were coming to them from the platforms at both ends of the car, and the doors were being tried and pounded on, as passengers attempted to pass through. Connery went to the rear, where the negro had been posted; then, repassing them, he went to the other end of the car. The noises ceased. "The Pullman conductor is forward, and the brakeman is back there now," he said, as he turned to them. "You will not be interrupted, Dr. Sinclair."
"What explanation did you give them?" Eaton asked.
"Why?" Connery returned.
"I was thinking of Miss Dorne."
"I told them nothing which could disturb her." Con-
