lar man as
conductor--prepared to go through to Chicago. You will facilitate
every desire and obey, when possible, any request even as to running of
the train, which may be made by a passenger who will identify himself
by a card from me.

H. E. JARVIS.

The conductor, accustomed to take charge of trains when princes,
envoys, presidents and great people of any sort took to travel publicly
or privately, fingered the heavy cream-colored note-paper upon which
the order was written and looked up at the chauffeur.

The order itself was surprising enough even to Connery. Some passenger
of extraordinary influence, obviously, was to take the train; not only
the holding of the transcontinental for an hour told this, but there
was the further plain statement that the passenger would be incognito.
Astonishing also was the fact that the order was written upon private
note-paper. There had been a monogram at the top of the sheet, but it
had been torn off; that would not have been if Mr. Jarvis had sent the
order from home. Who could have had the president of the road call
upon him at half past seven in the morning and have told Mr. Jarvis to
hold the Express for an hour?

Connery, having served for twenty of his forty-two years under Mr.
Jarvis, and the last five, at least, in almost a confidential capacity,
was certain of the distinctive characters of the president's
handwriting. The enigma of the order, however, had piqued him so that
he pretended doubt.

"Where did you get this?" he challenged the chauffeur.

"From Mr. Jarvis."

"Of course; but where?"

"You mean you want to know where he was?"

Connery smiled quietly. If he himself was trusted to be cautious and
circumspect, the chauffeur also plainly was accustomed to be in the
employ of one who required reticence. Connery looked from the note to
the bearer more keenly. There was something familiar in the
chauffeur's face--just enough to have made Connery believe, at first,
that probably he had seen the man meeting some passenger at the station.

"You are--" Connery ventured more casually.

"In private employ; yes, sir," the man cut off quickly. Then Connery
knew him; it was when Gabriel Warden traveled on Connery's train that
the conductor had seen this chauffeur; this was Patrick Corboy, who had
driven Warden the night he was killed. But Connery, having won his
point, knew better than to show it. "Waiting for a receipt from me?"
he asked as if he ha