ien nodded.

"Who's your passenger in Eleven back there?" demanded Glover, turning
to the darky.

"Me?" stammered Raz Brown.

"Who's your fare in Eleven in Lalla Rookh?"

"My fare? Why, I ain't got nair 'a fare in Lalla Rookh. She's dead,
boss."

"You've got a woman passenger in Eleven. What are you talking about?
What's the matter with you?"

Raz Brown's eyes rolled marvellously. "'Fore God, dere ain't nobody
dere ez I knows on, Mr. O'Brien," protested the surprised porter,
getting up.

"There's a woman in Eleven, Billy," said Glover.

"Come on," exclaimed O'Brien, turning to the porter. "She may be a
spotter. Let's see."

Raz Brown walked back reluctantly, Conductor O'Brien leading. Into the
Lalla Rookh, dark and quiet, around the smoking-room, down the aisle,
and facing Eleven; there the Pintsch light dimly burned, the draperies
slowly swayed in front of the darkened berth. Raz Brown gripped the
curtains preliminarily.

"Tickets, ma'am." There was a heavy pause.

"Tickets!" No response.

"C'nduct'h wants youh tickets, ma'am."

The silence could be cut with an axe. Raz Brown parted the curtains,
peered in, opened them wider, peered farther in; pushed the curtains
back with both hands. The berth was empty.

Raz looked at Conductor O'Brien. O'Brien grasped the curtains himself.
The upper berth hung closed above. The lower, made up, lay
untouched--the pillows fresh, the linen sheets folded back,
Pullmanwise, over the dark blanket.

The porter looked at Glover. "See foh y'se'f."

Glover was impatient. "She's somewhere about the car," he exclaimed,
"search it." Raz Brown went through the Lalla Rookh from vestibule to
vestibule: it was as empty as a ceiling.

Puzzled and annoyed, Glover stood trying to recall the mysterious
appearance. He walked back to where he had seen the woman, stood where
he had stood and looked where he had looked. She had not seemed to
withdraw, as he recalled: the curtains had not closed before the head;
it had vanished. The wind sung fine, very fine through the copper
screens, the Pintsch light flowed very low into the bright globe, the
curtains swung again gracefully to the dip of the car; but the head was
gone.

A discussion threw no light on the mystery. On one point, however,
Conductor O'Brien was firm. While the conductor and the porter kept up
the talk, Glover resumed his preparations for retiring in the
stateroom, but O'Brien interfered.

"Do