Union Station. There, in the front of the car, was her suit-case; but she
had gone--disappeared completely, vanished without leaving a sign.

Momentarily forgetful of the cold, Spike found a match and lighted it.
Holding it cupped in his hands, he peered within the cab. Then he
recoiled with a cry of horror.

For, huddled on the floor, he discerned the body of a man!




CHAPTER II

THE SUIT-CASE IS OPENED


The barren trees which lined the broad deserted thoroughfare jutted
starkly into the night, waving their menacing, ice-crusted arms. The
December gale, sweeping westward, shrieked through the glistening
branches. It shrieked warning and horror, howled and sighed, sighed
and howled.

Spike Walters felt suddenly ill. He forgot the cold, and was conscious of
a fear which acted like a temporary anesthesia. For a few seconds he
stood staring, until the match which he held burned out and scorched the
flesh of his fingers. His jaw dropped, his eyes widened. He opened his
lips and tried to speak, but closed them again without having uttered a
sound save a choking gasp. He tried again, feeling an urge for
speech--something, anything, to make him believe that he was here,