man's nervous desire for solitude, seemed to possess very little
significance. Then at last there was a sharp tap at the window. A
tall, quietly dressed man, with reddish skin and clear gray eyes,
was helped up into the car. He saluted the doctor mechanically.
His eyes were already travelling around the saloon.

"Inspector Jacks from Scotland Yard, sir," he announced. "I have
another man outside. If you don't mind, we'll have him in."

"By all means," the station-master answered. "I am afraid that
you will find this rather a serious affair. We have left
everything untouched so far as we could."

The second detective was assisted to clamber up into the car. It
seemed, however, as though the whole force of Scotland Yard could
scarcely do much towards elucidating an affair which, with every
question which was asked and answered, grew more mysterious. The
papers upon the table before the dead man were simply circulars
and prospectuses of no possible importance. His suitcase
contained merely a few toilet necessaries and some clean linen.
There was not a scrap of paper or even an envelope of any sort in
his pockets. In a small leather case they found a thousand
dollars in American notes, five ten-pound Bank of England notes,
and a single visiting card on which was engraved the name of Mr.
Hamilton Fynes. In his trousers pocket was a handful of gold. He
had no other personal belongings of any sort. The space between
the lining of his coat and the material itself was duly noticed,
but it was empty. His watch was a cheap one, his linen unmarked,
and his clothes bore only the name of a great New York retail
establishment. He had certainly entered the train alone, and both