found himself confronted by
Harry Bernard, whom he had met once or twice in Woodburg, many months
before.

"Eh!" ejaculated Elliston. "So you are the man who wrote that note
requesting an interview? Well, I am glad to see you, Mr. Bernard," and
Elliston held out his hand, with a smile wreathing his thin lips.

"I imagined you would be," returned the youth. "I am glad to see you
so well. Fact is, you are badly wanted out in Illinois at the present
time."

"I am sorry that I cannot accommodate my friends out there," returned
Elliston, with a frown; "but it is wholly out of the question. I think
I will bid you good evening, Mr. Bernard. I cannot waste precious time
here."

He turned and grasped the door-knob. It did not yield to his touch.

"Not just yet, Mr. Elliston," said Harry. "I wish to ask you a few
questions."

"Well?"

"What do you know of the murder of Arnold Nicholson on the midnight
express, south of Chicago, some weeks ago?"

"I read of it, of course."

Mr. Elliston pulled nervously at his glove as he answered.

"What do you know of the disappearance of Captain Osborne and the
death of his daughter?" persisted Bernard.

"Do you suppose I have nothing to do but answer such nonsensical
questions?" demanded Elliston, angrily. "Open this door and let me
pass out."

"Not yet. I wish to tell you a little story, Mr. Elliston."

"I haven't time to listen."

"Nevertheless, you must take the time," said Harry Bernard, sternly.
"Don't attempt to make trouble, sir; you will get the worst of it if
you do."

There was a glitter in the eyes of the speaker that was not pleasant
to see.

Mr. Elliston sank to a chair, and with an air of resignation said:

"Well, well, this is impudent, but I will listen if it will gratify
you."

"It certainly will. I wish to start out with the assertion that you DO
know something about the crime on the midnight express, and I will try
and convince you that _I_ know what part you acted in the murder of
one of the best men in the service of the express company. Don't lose
your temper, sir, but listen?"

"I am listening."

There was a sullen echo in the man's voice that boded an outburst
soon.

"A gentleman of your build and complexion boarded the train at a
station just south of Chicago one night in April. At another station
two companions joined this man, according to previous agreement. One
was almost a boy in years, an escaped convict; and these three men
durin