oking him. Then he had seen Joe, loafing along the road in the
moonlight, and he had relaxed, scarcely aware of the abominable choice
he had faced.

"NT. NT. NT."

His own call. Tolliver shrank from the sharp blows. He forced himself to
a minute attention. It was division headquarters.

"Holding twenty-one here until thirty-three and the special have
cleared."

Twenty-one was a freight. It was a relief to have that off the road for
the emergency. He lay back when the striking at his head had ceased.

It was unfortunate that Joe and he alone should be employed at the
tower. Relieving each other at regular intervals, they had never been at
the house together. Either Tolliver had been there alone with his wife
and his son--or Joe had been. The two men had seen each other too
little, only momentarily in this busy room. They didn't really know each
other.

"LR. LR. LR."

Tolliver shook his head savagely. It had been a mistake letting Joe
board with them at all. Any man would fall in love with Sally. Yet
Tolliver had thought after that definite quarrel Joe would have known
his place; the danger would have ended.

It was probably this drinking at the country inn where Joe lived now
that had made the man brood. The inn was too small and removed to
attract the revenue officers, and the liquid manufactured and sold there
was designed to make a man daring, irrational, deadly.

Tolliver shrank from the assaults of the sounder.

Where was Joe now? At the inn, drinking; or----

He jotted down the outpourings of the voluble key. More and more it
became clear that the special and thirty-three would meet near his
tower, but it would almost certainly be after midnight when Joe would
have relieved him. He watched the clock, often pressing his fingers
against his temples in an attempt to make bearable the hammering at his
brain, unequal and persistent.

While the hands crawled towards midnight the wind increased, shrieking
around the tower as if the pounding angered it.

Above the shaking of the windows Tolliver caught another sound, gentle
and disturbing, as if countless fingers tapped softly, simultaneously
against the panes.

He arose and raised one of the sashes. The wind tore triumphantly in,
bearing a quantity of snowflakes that fluttered to the floor, expiring.
Under his breath Tolliver swore. He leaned out, peering through the
storm. The red and green signal lamps were blurred. He shrugged his
shoulders. Anyway,