's something of a mess, isn't it? If you can only
prove your mild and child-like disposition, they couldn't hold you for
the murder--which is a regular ten-twent-thirt crime, anyhow. But the
notes--that's different. They are not burned, anyhow. Your man wasn't on
the train--therefore, he wasn't in the wreck. If he didn't know what
he was taking, as you seem to think, he probably reads the papers, and
unless he is a fathead, he's awake by this time to what he's got. He'll
try to sell them to Bronson, probably."

"Or to us," I put in.

We said nothing for a few minutes. McKnight smoked a cigarette and
stared at a photograph of Candida over the mantel. Candida is the best
pony for a heavy mount in seven states.

"I didn't go to Richmond," he observed finally. The remark followed my
own thoughts so closely that I started. "Miss West is not home yet from
Seal Harbor."

Receiving no response, he lapsed again into thoughtful silence. Mrs.
Klopton came in just as the clock struck one, and made preparation for
the night by putting a large gaudy comfortable into an arm-chair in the
dressing-room, with a smaller, stiff-backed chair for her feet. She was
wonderfully attired in a dressing-gown that was reminiscent, in parts,
of all the ones she had given me for a half dozen Christmases, and she
had a purple veil wrapped around her head, to hide Heaven knows what
deficiency. She examined the empty egg-nog glass, inquired what the
evening paper had said about the weather, and then stalked into the
dressing-room, and prepared, with much ostentatious creaking, to sit up
all night.

We fell silent again, while McKnight traced a rough outline of the
berths on the white table-cover, and puzzled it out slowly. It was
something like this:
____________________________________
| 12 | 10 | 8 |
|____________|___________|___________|
|_______________AISLE________________|
| 11 | 9 | 7 |
|____________|___________|___________|

"You think he changed the tags on seven and nine, so that when you went
back to bed you thought you were crawling into nine, when it was really
seven, eh?"

"Probably-yes."

"Then toward morning, when everybody was asleep, your theory is that he
changed the numbers again and left the train."

"I can't think of anything else," I replied wearily.

"Jove, what a game of bridge that fellow would play!