throw them on the fire. Young Jenkins did ask him a question, and
he shut him up pretty quick."

"Well, I suppose we shall read all about it in the papers
tomorrow," Crewe remarked. "There isn't much that these reporters
don't get hold of. He must be some one out of the common--some
one with a pull, I mean,--or the captain of the Lusitania would
never have let him off before the other passengers. When are the
rest of them coming through?"

"Three specials leave here at nine o'clock tomorrow morning," was
the reply. "Good night."

The station-master at Crewe hung up his receiver and went about
his duties. Twenty miles southward by now, the special was still
tearing its way into the darkness. Its solitary passenger had
suddenly developed a fit of restlessness. He left his seat and
walked once or twice up and down the saloon. Then he opened the
rear door, crossed the little open space between, and looked into
the guard's brake. The guard was sitting upon a stool, reading a
newspaper. He was quite alone, and so absorbed that he did not
notice the intruder. Mr. Hamilton Fynes quietly retreated,
closing the door behind him. He made his way once more through
the saloon, passed the attendant, who was fast asleep in his
pantry, and was met by a locked door. He let down the window and
looked out. He was within a few feet of the engine, which was
obviously attached direct to the saloon. Mr. Hamilton Fynes
resumed his seat, having disturbed nobody. He produced some
papers from his breast pocket, and spread them out on the table
before him. One, a sealed envelope, he immediately returned,