Part 3 (1/2)

I'd be thankful even for my shoes; these are confoundedly tight.”

n.o.body spoke, and I fell silent, too. For one of the pillows had been turned over, and the under side of the white case was streaked with brownish stains. I think it was a perceptible time before I realized that the stains were blood, and that the faces around were filled with suspicion and distrust.

”Why, it - that looks like blood,” I said vacuously. There was an incessant pounding in my ears, and the conductor's voice came from far off.

”It is blood,” he a.s.serted grimly.

I looked around with a dizzy attempt at nonchalance. ”Even if it is,” I remonstrated, ”surely you don't suppose for a moment that I know anything about it!”

The amateur detective elbowed his way in. He had a sc.r.a.p of transparent paper in his hand, and a pencil.

”I would like permission to trace the stains,” he began eagerly. ”Also” - to me - ”if you will kindly jab your finger with a pin - needle - anything - ”

”If you don't keep out of this,” the conductor said savagely, ”I will do some jabbing myself. As for you, sir - ” he turned to me. I was absolutely innocent, but I knew that I presented a typical picture of guilt; I was covered with cold sweat, and the pounding in my ears kept up dizzily. ”As for you, sir - ”

The irrepressible amateur detective made a quick pounce at the pillow and pushed back the cover.

Before our incredulous eyes he drew out a narrow steel dirk which had been buried to the small cross that served as a head.

There was a chorus of voices around, a quick surging forward of the crowd. So that was what had scratched my hand! I buried the wound in my coat pocket.

”Well,” I said, trying to speak naturally, ”doesn't that prove what I have been telling you? The man who committed the murder belonged to this berth, and made an exchange in some way after the crime.

How do you know he didn't change the tags so I would come back to this berth?” This was an inspiration; I was pleased with it. ”That's what he did, he changed the tags,” I reiterated.

There was a murmur of a.s.sent around. The doctor, who was standing beside me, put his hand on my arm. ”If this gentleman committed this crime, and I for one feel sure he did not, then who is the fellow who got away? And why did he go?”

”We have only one man's word for that,” the conductor snarled. ”I've traveled some in these cars myself, and no one ever changed berths with me.”

Somebody on the edge of the group a.s.serted that hereafter he would travel by daylight. I glanced up and caught the eye of the girl in blue.

”They are all mad,” she said. Her tone was low, but I heard her distinctly. ”Don't take them seriouslyenough to defend yourself.”

”I am glad you think I didn't do it,” I observed meekly, over the crowd. ”Nothing else is of any importance.

The conductor had pulled out his note-book again. ”Your name, please,” he said gruffly.

”Lawrence Blakeley, Was.h.i.+ngton.”

”Your occupation?”

”Attorney. A member of the firm of Blakeley and McKnight.”

”Mr. Blakeley, you say you have occupied the wrong berth and have been robbed. Do you know anything of the man who did it?”

”Only from what he left behind,” I answered. ”These clothes - ”

”They fit you,” he said with quick suspicion. ”Isn't that rather a coincidence? You are a large man.”

”Good Heavens,” I retorted, stung into fury, ”do I look like a man who would wear this kind of a necktie? Do you suppose I carry purple and green barred silk handkerchiefs? Would any man in his senses wear a pair of shoes a full size too small?”

The conductor was inclined to hedge. ”You will have to grant that I am in a peculiar position,” he said. ”I have only your word as to the exchange of berths, and you understand I am merely doing my duty. Are there any clues in the pockets?”

For the second time I emptied them of their contents, which he noted. ”Is that all?” he finished. ”There was nothing else?”

”Nothing.”

”That's not all, sir,” broke in the porter, stepping forward. ”There was a small black satchel.”

”That's so,” I exclaimed. ”I forgot the bag. I don't even know where it is.”

The easily swayed crowd looked suspicious again. I've grown so accustomed to reading the faces of a jury, seeing them swing from doubt to belief, and back again to doubt, that I instinctively watch expressions. I saw that my forgetfulness had done me harm - that suspicion was roused again.

The bag was found a couple of seats away, under somebody's raincoat - another dubious circ.u.mstance. Was I hiding it? It was brought to the berth and placed beside the conductor, who opened it at once.

It contained the usual traveling impedimenta - change of linen, collars, handkerchiefs, a bronze-green scarf, and a safety razor. But the attention of the crowd riveted itself on a flat, Russia leather wallet, around which a heavy gum band was wrapped, and which bore in gilt letters the name ”Simon Harrington.”

CHAPTER VII A FINE GOLD CHAIN

The conductor held it out to me, his face sternly accusing.

”Is this another coincidence?” he asked. ”Did the man who left you his clothes and the barred silk handkerchief and the tight shoes leave you the spoil of the murder?”

The men standing around had drawn off a little, and I saw the absolute futility of any remonstrance.

Have you ever seen a fly, who, in these hygienic days, finding no cobwebs to entangle him, is caught in a sheet of fly paper, finds himself more and more mired, and is finally quiet with the sticky stillness of despair?

Well, I was the fly. I had seen too much of circ.u.mstantial evidence to have any belief that the establis.h.i.+ng of my ident.i.ty would weigh much against the other incriminating details. It meantimprisonment and trial, probably, with all the notoriety and loss of practice they would entail. A man thinks quickly at a time like that. All the probable consequences of the finding of that pocket-book flashed through my mind as I extended my hand to take it. Then I drew my arm back.

”I don't want it,” I said. ”Look inside. Maybe the other man took the money and left the wallet.”

The conductor opened it, and again there was a curious surging forward of the crowd. To my intense disappointment the money was still there.

I stood blankly miserable while it was counted out - five one-hundred-dollar bills, six twenties, and some fives and ones that brought the total to six hundred and fifty dollars.

The little man with the note-book insisted on taking the numbers of the notes, to the conductor's annoyance. It was immaterial to me: small things had lost their power to irritate. I was seeing myself in the prisoner's box, going through all the nerve-racking routine of a trial for murder - the challenging of the jury, the endless cross-examinations, the alternate hope and fear. I believe I said before that I had no nerves, but for a few minutes that morning I was as near as a man ever comes to hysteria.

I folded my arms and gave myself a mental shake. I seemed to be the center of a hundred eyes, expressing every shade of doubt and distrust, but I tried not to flinch. Then some one created a diversion.

The amateur detective was busy again with the seal-skin bag, investigating the make of the safety razor and the manufacturer's name on the bronze-green tie. Now, however, he paused and frowned, as though some pet theory had been upset.