his berth--or at least was awake and had recently rung his bell.

Connery looked in upon the porter, who was cleaning up the washroom.

"Section Three's getting up?" he asked.

"No, Mistah Connery--not yet," the porter answered.

"What did he ring for?" Connery thought Dorne might have asked for him.

"He didn't ring. He ain't moved or stirred this morning."

"He must have rung." Connery looked to the dial, and the porter came
out of the washroom and looked at it also.

"Fo' the lan's sake. I didn't hear no ring, Mistah Connery. It mus'
have been when I was out on the platform."

"When was that?"

"Jus' now. There ain't been nobody but him in the car for fifteen
minutes, and I done turn the pointers all up when the las' passenger
went to the diner. It can't be longer than a few minutes, Mistah
Connery."

"Answer it, then," Connery directed.

As the negro started to obey, Connery followed him into the open car.
He could see over the negro's shoulder the hand sticking out into the
aisle, and this time, at sight of it, Connery started violently. If
Dorne had rung, he must have moved; a man who is awake does not let his
hand hang out into the aisle. Yet the hand had not moved. Nothing was
changed about it since Connery had seen it before. The long, sensitive
fingers fell in precisely the same position as before, stiffly
separated a little one from another; they had not changed their
position at all.

"Wait!" Connery seized the porter by the arm. "I'll answer it myself."

He dismissed the negro and waited until he had gone. He looked about
and assured himself that the car, except for himself and the man lying
behind the curtains of Section Three, was empty. He slowed, as he
approached the hand. He halted and stood a moment beside the berth,
himself almost breathless as he listened for the sound of breathing
within. He heard nothing, though he bent closer to the curtain. Yet
he still hesitated, and retreating a little and walking briskly as
though he were carelessly passing up the aisle, he brushed hard against
the hand and looked back, exclaiming an apology for his carelessness.

The hand fell back heavily, inertly, and resumed its former position
and hung as white and lifeless as before. No response to the apology
came from behind the curtains; the man in the berth had not roused.
Connery rushed back to the curtains and touched the hand with his
fingers. It was cold! He seized the hand