He may have--good Heavens!--he may have killed him in the
mistaken idea that Harry was running away with Eleanor. She's on this
very train! It's perfectly natural. Porter," she called, "there has
been foul play!"
"Gee, miss! That's what the other lady is saying!"
"The other--then it is a double murder! Don't laugh! It's--it's--"
"Don't cry, miss; it's all right." She looked at him piteously for a
moment, and then smiled at the absurdity of her conjecture.
A tousled head came from between the curtains of the upper berth
opposite, and a sleepy, hoarse voice demanded:
"How long will we be here? What's the latest?"
"We're on time, sah," replied the porter, from sheer force of habit.
"The devil we are! Say, I've got to be in Omegon by ten o'clock. I'll
sue this infernal road," snarled the irascible party, snapping the
curtains together. It transpired that he was an agent for a medical
college, travelling to Omegon on a most unwholesome but edifying
mission. He was going up to take possession of the body of a man who
had willed his carcass to the school. As the poor chap was not yet
dead, but hopelessly ill, the desire for haste on the part of the
agent may be misunderstood.
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