so
unjust that there should have been such an attack upon him."

Eaton, leaning against the rail beside her and glancing at her, saw
that her lashes were wet, and his eyes dropped as they caught hers.

"They have been investigating the attack?"

"Yes; Donald--Mr. Avery, you know--and the conductor have been working
on it all day."

"What have they learned?"

"Not much, I think; at least not much that they have told me. They
have been questioning the porter."

"The porter?"

"Oh, I don't mean that they think the porter had anything to do with
it; but the bell rang, you know."

"The bell?"

"The bell from Father's berth. I thought you knew. It rang some time
before Father was found--some few minutes before; the porter did not
hear it, but the pointer was turned down. They have tested it, and it
cannot be jarred down or turned in any way except by means of the bell."

Eaton looked away from her, then back again rather strangely.

"I would not attach too much importance to the bell," he said.

"Father could not have rung it; Dr. Sinclair says that is impossible.
So its being rung shows that some one was at the berth, some one must
have seen Father lying there and--and rung the bell, but did not tell
any one about Father. That could hardly have been an innocent person,
Mr. Eaton."

"Or a guilty one, Miss Santoine, or he would not have rung the bell at
all."

"I don't know--I don't understand all it might mean. I have tried not
to think about anything but Father."

"Is that all they have learned?"

"No; they have found the weapon."

"The weapon with which your father was struck?"

"Yes; the man who did it seems not to have realized that the train was
stopped--or at least that it would be stopped for so long--and he threw
it off the train, thinking, I suppose, we should be miles away from
there by morning. But the train didn't move, and the snow didn't cover
it up, and it was found lying against the snowbank this afternoon. It
corresponds, Dr. Sinclair says, with Father's injuries."

"What was it?"

"It seems to have been a bar of metal--of steel, they said, I think,
Mr. Eaton--wrapped in a man's black sock."

"A sock!" Eaton's voice sounded strange to himself; he felt that the
blood had left his cheeks, leaving him pale, and that the girl must
notice it. "A man's sock!"

Then he saw that she had not noticed, for she had not been looking at
him.

"It could be carried in that way throug