ght. Probably the
same clue brought you gentlemen. I learned a good bit from the station
agent."

"The son-of-a-gun," said McKnight. "And you paid him, I suppose?"

"I gave him five dollars," was the apologetic answer. Mrs. Carter,
hearing sounds of strife in the yard, went out, and Hotchkiss folded up
his papers.

"I think the identity of the man is established," he said. "What number
of hat do you wear, Mr. Blakeley?"

"Seven and a quarter," I replied.

"Well, it's only piling up evidence," he said cheerfully. "On the night
of the murder you wore light gray silk underclothing, with the second
button of the shirt missing. Your hat had 'L. B.' in gilt letters
inside, and there was a very minute hole in the toe of one black sock."

"Hush," McKnight protested. "If word gets to Mrs. Klopton that Mr.
Blakeley was wrecked, or robbed, or whatever it was, with a button
missing and a hole in one sock, she'll retire to the Old Ladies' Home.
I've heard her threaten it."

Mr. Hotchkiss was without a sense of humor. He regarded McKnight gravely
and went on:

"I've been up in the room where the man lay while he was unable to get
away, and there is nothing there. But I found what may be a possible
clue in the dust heap.

"Mrs. Carter tells me that in unpacking his grip the other day she took
out of the coat of the pajamas some pieces of a telegram. As I figure
it, the pajamas were his own. He probably had them on when he effected
the exchange."

I nodded assent. All I had retained of my own clothing was the suit of
pajamas I was wearing and my bath-robe.

"Therefore the telegram was his, not yours. I have pieces here, but some
are missing. I am not discouraged, however."

He spread out some bits of yellow paper, and we bent over them
curiously. It was something like this:

Man with p- Get-
Br-

We spelled it out slowly.

"Now," Hotchkiss announced, "I make it something like this: The 'p.-' is
one of two things, pistol--you remember the little pearl-handled affair
belonging to the murdered man--or it is pocket-book. I am inclined to
the latter view, as the pocket-book had been disturbed and the pistol
had not."

I took the piece of paper from the table and scrawled four words on it.

"Now," I said, rearranging them, "it happens, Mr. Hotchkiss, that I
found one of these pieces of the telegram on the train. I thought it had
been dropped by some one else, you see, but