over to the terminal; and one of these presently caught
her attention--a man who, carrying a small oxford hand-bag, came up
hastily from behind, started to cross the street, drew back barely in
time to escape annihilation at the wheels of a flying squadron of
taxicabs, and so for a moment waited, in impatient preoccupation
with his own concerns, only a foot or two in advance but wholly
heedless of the girl.

Sally caught her breath sharply, and her wits seemed to knit together
with a sort of mental click; the man was Blue Serge, identified
unmistakably to her eyes by the poise of his blue-clad person--the
same Blue Serge who owed his life to Sally Manvers!

In another instant the way cleared and the man moved smartly on again,
with every indication of one spurred on by an urgent errand--but went
no more alone. Now a pertinacious shadow dogged him to the farther
sidewalk, into the yawning vestibule of the railway station, on (at a
trot) through its stupendous lobbies, even to the platform gates that
were rudely slammed in his face by implacable destiny in the guise and
livery of a gateman.

At this, pausing a little to one side, Sally watched Blue Serge accost
the guardian, argue, protest, exhibit tickets, and finally endeavour
to bribe a way past the barrier. But the train was already pulling
out; with a shake of his stubborn head the uniformed official moved
on; and ruminating on a power of pent profanity, Blue Serge turned and
strode back into the waiting-room, passing so near to Sally that their
elbows almost touched without his rousing to the least recognition of
her existence.

But that in itself was nothing to dismay or check the girl in her
purpose, and when Blue Serge a minute later addressed himself to
the Pullman bureau she was still his shadow--an all but open
eavesdropper upon his communications with the authority of the
brass-barred wicket.

"I've just missed the eleven ten for Boston," she heard him explain as
he displayed tickets on the marble ledge, "and, of course, I'm out my
berth reservation. Can you give me a lower on the midnight express?"

"No," Authority averred with becoming sententiousness.

"An upper, then?"

"Nothing left an the midnight."

"Not even a stateroom?"

"I told you nothing doing."

"Well, then, perhaps you can fix me up for the Owl train?"

"Wait a minute."

A pause ensued while Authority consulted his records; not a long
pause, but one long enough to permit a wi