“It would make anybody faint,” chimed
in another. “Murder and robbery in one
night and on one car. I’m thankful I always
wear my rings in a bag around my neck—even
if they do get under me and keep me awake.”
The girl in blue was looking at us with wide, startled
eyes. I saw her pale a little, saw the quick,
apprehensive glance which she threw at her traveling
companion, the small woman I had noticed before.
There was an exchange—almost a clash—of
glances. The small woman frowned. That
was all. I turned my attention again to my patient.
She had revived somewhat, and now she asked to have
the window opened. The train had stopped again
and the car was oppressively hot. People around
were looking at their watches and grumbling over the
delay. The doctor bustled in with a remark about
its being his busy day. The amateur detective
and the porter together mounted guard over lower ten.
Outside the heat rose in shimmering waves from the
tracks: the very wood of the car was hot to touch.
A Camberwell Beauty darted through the open door
and made its way, in erratic plunges, great wings
waving, down the sunny aisle. All around lay
the peace of harvested fields, the quiet of the country.
THE GIRL IN BLUE
I was growing more and more irritable. The thought
of what the loss of the notes meant was fast crowding
the murder to the back of my mind. The forced
inaction was intolerable.
The porter had reported no bag answering the description
of mine on the train, but I was disposed to make my
own investigation. I made a tour of the cars,
scrutinizing every variety of hand luggage, ranging
from luxurious English bags with gold mountings to
the wicker nondescripts of the day coach at the rear.
I was not alone in my quest, for the girl in blue
was just ahead of me. Car by car she preceded
me through the train, unconscious that I was behind
her, looking at each passenger as she passed.
I fancied the proceeding was distasteful, but that
she had determined on a course and was carrying it
through. We reached the end of the train almost
together—empty-handed, both of us.
The girl went out to the platform. When she
saw me she moved aside, and I stepped out beside her.
Behind us the track curved sharply; the early sunshine
threw the train, in long black shadow, over the hot
earth. Forward somewhere they were hammering.
The girl said nothing, but her profile was strained
and anxious.
“I—if you have lost anything,”
I began, “I wish you would let me try to help.
Not that my own success is anything to boast of.”
She hardly glanced at me. It was not flattering.
“I have not been robbed, if that is what you
mean,” she replied quietly. “I am
—perplexed. That is all.”
There was nothing to say to that. I lifted my
hat—the other fellow’s hat—and
turned to go back to my car. Two or three members
of the train crew, including the conductor, were standing
in the shadow talking. And at that moment, from
a farm-house near came the swift clang of the breakfast
bell, calling in the hands from barn and pasture.
I turned back to the girl.
