The Man in Lower Ten Read online

  CHAPTER V. THE WOMAN IN THE NEXT CAR

  With the departure of the conductor and the doctor, the group aroundlower ten broke up, to re-form in smaller knots through the car. Theporter remained on guard. With something of relief I sank into a seat.I wanted to think, to try to remember the details of the previous night.But my inquisitive acquaintance had other intentions. He came up and satdown beside me. Like the conductor, he had taken notes of the dead man'sbelongings, his name, address, clothing and the general circumstances ofthe crime. Now with his little note-book open before him, he prepared toenjoy the minor sensation of the robbery.

  "And now for the second victim," he began cheerfully. "What is your nameand address, please?" I eyed him with suspicion.

  "I have lost everything but my name and address," I parried. "What doyou want them for? Publication?"

  "Oh, no; dear, no!" he said, shocked at my misapprehension. "Merely formy own enlightenment. I like to gather data of this kind and draw myown conclusions. Most interesting and engrossing. Once or twice I haveforestalled the results of police investigation--but entirely for my ownamusement."

  I nodded tolerantly. Most of us have hobbies; I knew a man once whocarried his handkerchief up his sleeve and had a mania for old coloredprints cut out of Godey's Lady's Book.

  "I use that inductive method originated by Poe and followed since withsuch success by Conan Doyle. Have you ever read Gaboriau? Ah, you havemissed a treat, indeed. And now, to get down to business, what is thename of our escaped thief and probable murderer?"

  "How on earth do I know?" I demanded impatiently. "He didn't write it inblood anywhere, did he?"

  The little man looked hurt and disappointed.

  "Do you mean to say," he asked, "that the pockets of those clothes areentirely empty?" The pockets! In the excitement I had forgotten entirelythe sealskin grip which the porter now sat at my feet, and I had notinvestigated the pockets at all. With the inquisitive man's penciltaking note of everything that I found, I emptied them on the oppositeseat.

  Upper left-hand waist-coat, two lead pencils and a fountain pen; lowerright waist-coat, match-box and a small stamp book; right-hand pocketcoat, pair of gray suede gloves, new, size seven and a half; left-handpocket, gun-metal cigarette case studded with pearls, half-full ofEgyptian cigarettes. The trousers pockets contained a gold penknife, asmall amount of money in bills and change, and a handkerchief with theinitial "S" on it.

  Further search through the coat discovered a card-case with cardsbearing the name Henry Pinckney Sullivan, and a leather flask withgold mountings, filled with what seemed to be very fair whisky, andmonogrammed H. P. S.

  "His name evidently is Henry Pinckney Sullivan," said the cheerfulfollower of Poe, as he wrote it down. "Address as yet unknown. Blond,probably. Have you noticed that it is almost always the blond men whoaffect a very light gray, with a touch of red in the scarf? Fact, Iassure you. I kept a record once of the summer attire of men, and ninetyper cent, followed my rule. Dark men like you affect navy blue, orbrown."

  In spite of myself I was amused at the man's shrewdness.

  "Yes; the suit he took was dark--a blue," I said. He rubbed his handsand smiled at me delightedly. "Then you wore black shoes, not tan," hesaid, with a glance at the aggressive yellow ones I wore.

  "Right again," I acknowledged. "Black low shoes and black embroideredhose. If you keep on you'll have a motive for the crime, and themurderer's present place of hiding. And if you come back to the smokerwith me, I'll give you an opportunity to judge if he knew good whiskyfrom bad."

  I put the articles from the pockets back again and got up. "I wonderif there is a diner on?" I said. "I need something sustaining after allthis."

  I was conscious then of some one at my elbow. I turned to see the youngwoman whose face was so vaguely familiar. In the very act of speakingshe drew back suddenly and colored.

  "Oh,--I beg your pardon," she said hurriedly, "I--thought you were--someone else." She was looking in a puzzled fashion at my coat. I felt allthe cringing guilt of a man who has accidentally picked up the wrongumbrella: my borrowed collar sat tight on my neck.

  "I'm sorry," I said idiotically. "I'm sorry, but--I'm not." I havelearned since that she has bright brown hair, with a loose wave in itthat drops over her ears, and dark blue eyes with black lashes and--butwhat does it matter? One enjoys a picture as a whole: not as the sum ofits parts.

  She saw the flask then, and her errand came back to her. "One of theladies at the end of car has fainted," she explained. "I thought perhapsa stimulant--"

  I picked up the flask at once and followed my guide down the aisle. Twoor three women were working over the woman who had fainted. They hadopened her collar and taken out her hairpins, whatever good that mightdo. The stout woman was vigorously rubbing her wrists, with the idea,no doubt, of working up her pulse! The unconscious woman was the one forwhom I had secured lower eleven at the station.

  I poured a little liquor in a bungling masculine fashion between herlips as she leaned back, with closed eyes. She choked, coughed, andrallied somewhat.

  "Poor thing," said the stout lady. "As she lies back that way I couldalmost think it was my mother; she used to faint so much."

  "It would make anybody faint," chimed in another. "Murder and robbery inone night and on one car. I'm thankful I always wear my rings in a bagaround 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 herpale a little, saw the quick, apprehensive glance which she threw at hertraveling companion, the small woman I had noticed before. There was anexchange--almost a clash--of glances. The small woman frowned. That wasall. 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. Peoplearound were looking at their watches and grumbling over the delay.The doctor bustled in with a remark about its being his busy day. Theamateur detective and the porter together mounted guard over lower ten.Outside the heat rose in shimmering waves from the tracks: the very woodof the car was hot to touch. A Camberwell Beauty darted through the opendoor and made its way, in erratic plunges, great wings waving, down thesunny aisle. All around lay the peace of harvested fields, the quiet ofthe country.