Carroll swung the suit-case to the inside of the cab.  It opened readily.  Leverage kept his light trained on it as Carroll dug swiftly through the contents.  Finally the eyes of the two men met.  Carroll’s expression was one of frank amazement; Leverage’s reflected sheer unbelief.

“It can’t be, Carroll!”

“Yet—­it is!”

“Sufferin’ wildcats!” breathed Leverage.  “The suit-case ain’t the woman’s at all!  It’s Warren’s!”

CHAPTER III

“Find the woman”

The thing was incomprehensible, yet true.  Not a single article of feminine apparel was contained in the suit-case.  Not only that, but every garment therein which bore an identification mark was the property of Roland Warren, the man whose body leered at them from the floor of the taxicab.

The two detectives again inspected the suit-case.  An extra suit had been neatly folded.  The pockets bore the label of a leading tailor, and the name “Roland R. Warren.”  The tailor-made shirts and underwear bore the maker’s name and Warren’s initials.  The handkerchiefs were Warren’s.  Even those articles which were without name or initials contained the same laundry-mark as those which they knew belonged to the dead man.

Carroll’s face showed keen interest.  This newest development had rather startled him, and made an almost irresistible appeal to his love for the bizarre in crime.  The very fact that the circumstances smacked of the impossible intrigued him.  He narrowed his eyes and gazed again upon the form of the dead man.  Finally he nudged Leverage and designated three initials on the end of the suit-case.

“R.R.W.—­Roland R. Warren!” Leverage grunted.  “It’s his, all right, Carroll.  But just the same there ain’t no such animal.”

Carroll turned to the dazed Walters.

“Understand what we’ve just discovered, son?” he inquired mildly.

Spike’s teeth were chattering with cold.

“I don’t hardly understand none of it, sir.  ’Cording to what I make out, that suit-case belongs to the body and not to the woman.”

“Right!  Now what I want to know is how that could be.”

Spike shook his head dazedly.

“Lordy, Mr. Carroll, I couldn’t be knowing that.”

“You’re sure the woman got into your cab alone?”

“Absolutely, sir.  She came through the waiting-room alone, carrying that very same suit-case—­”

“You’re positive it was that suit-case?”

“Yes, sir—­that is, as positive as I can be.  You see I was on the lookout for a fare, but wasn’t expecting one, on account of the fact that this here train was an accommodation, and folks that usually come in on it take street-cars and not a taxi.  Well, the minute I seen a good-lookin’, well-dressed woman comin’ out the door, I sort of noticed.  It surprised me first off, because I asked myself what she was doing on that train.”