urse to leave the room.

He waited until the nurse had left and closed the door behind her.
Harriet saw that, in his familiarity with her tones and every
inflection of her voice, he had sensed already that something unusual
had occurred; she repeated, however, her question as to what he wanted.

"That does not matter now, Harriet. Where have you been?"

"I have been walking with Mr. Eaton."

"What happened?"

She hesitated. "Mr. Eaton was almost run down by a motor-car."

"Ah! An accident?"

She hesitated again. She had seen on her father's face the slight
heightening of his color which, with him, was the only outward sign
that marked some triumph of his own mind; his blind eyes, abstracted
and almost always motionless, never showed anything at all.

"Mr. Eaton said it was an accident," she answered.

"But you?"

"It did not look to me like an accident, Father. It--it showed
intention."

"You mean it was an attack?"

"Yes; it was an attack. The man in the car meant to run Mr. Eaton
down; he meant to kill him or to hurt him terribly. Mr. Eaton wasn't
hurt. I called to him and pulled him--he jumped away in time."

"To kill him, Harriet? How do you know?"

She caught herself. "I--I don't know, Father. He certainly meant to
injure Mr. Eaton. When I said kill him, I was telling only what I
thought."

"That is better. I think so too."

"That he meant to kill Mr. Eaton?"

"Yes."

She watched her father's face; often when relating things to him, she
was aware from his expression that she was telling him only something
he already had figured out and expected or even knew; she felt that now.

"Father, did you expect Mr. Eaton to be attacked?"

"Expect? Not that exactly; it was possible; I suspected something like
this might occur."

"And you did not warn him?"

The blind man's hands sought each other on the coverlet and clasped
together. "It was not necessary to warn him, Harriet; Mr. Eaton
already knew. Who was in the car?"

"Three men."

"Had you seen any of them before?"

"Yes, one--the man who drove."

"Where?"

"On the train."

The color on Santoine's face grew brighter. "Did you know who he was?"

"No, Father."

"Describe him, dear," Santoine directed.

He waited while she called together her recollections of the man.

"I can't describe him very fully, Father," she said. "He was one of
the people who had berths in the forward sleeping-car. I can recall
seeing h