atch in her voice. "Oh, I know them. Or are you afraid to ask?"

I looked at her, at the lines around her eyes, at the drawn look about
her mouth. Then I held out my hand. "Afraid!" I said, as she gave me
hers. "There is nothing in God's green earth I am afraid of, save of
trouble for you. To ask questions would be to imply a lack of faith. I
ask you nothing. Some day, perhaps, you will come to me yourself and let
me help you."

The next moment I was out in the golden sunshine: the birds were singing
carols of joy: I walked dizzily through rainbow-colored clouds, past the
twins, cherubs now, swinging on the gate. It was a new world into which
I stepped from the Carter farm-house that morning, for--I had kissed
her!

CHAPTER XIX. AT THE TABLE NEXT

McKnight and Hotchkiss were sauntering slowly down the road as I caught
up with them. As usual, the little man was busy with some abstruse
mental problem.

"The idea is this," he was saying, his brows knitted in thought, "if
a left-handed man, standing in the position of the man in the picture,
should jump from a car, would he be likely to sprain his right ankle?
When a right-handed man prepares for a leap of that kind, my theory
is that he would hold on with his right hand, and alight at the proper
time, on his right foot. Of course--"

"I imagine, although I don't know," interrupted McKnight, "that a man
either ambidextrous or one-armed, jumping from the Washington Flier,
would be more likely to land on his head."

"Anyhow," I interposed, "what difference does it make whether Sullivan
used one hand or the other? One pair of handcuffs will put both hands
out of commission."

As usual when one of his pet theories was attacked, Hotchkiss looked
aggrieved.

"My dear sir," he expostulated, "don't you understand what bearing this
has on the case? How was the murdered man lying when he was found?"

"On his back," I said promptly, "head toward the engine."

"Very well," he retorted, "and what then? Your heart lies under your
fifth intercostal space, and to reach it a right-handed blow would have
struck either down or directly in.

"But, gentleman, the point of entrance for the stiletto was below the
heart, striking up! As Harrington lay with his head toward the engine, a
person in the aisle must have used the left hand."

McKnight's eyes sought mine and he winked at me solemnly as I
unostentatiously transferred the hat I was carrying to my right hand.
Long tra