while in his hip pocket was found a small pearl-handled revolver
of the type women usually keep around. A gold watch with a Masonic
charm had slid down between the mattress and the window, while a
showy diamond stud was still fastened in the bosom of his shirt.
Taken as a whole, the personal belongings were those of a man of
some means, but without any particular degree of breeding. The
doctor heaped them together.

"Either robbery was not the motive," he reflected, "or the thief
overlooked these things in his hurry."

The latter hypothesis seemed the more tenable, when, after a
thorough search, we found no pocketbook and less than a dollar in
small change.

The suit-case gave no clue. It contained one empty leather-covered
flask and a pint bottle, also empty, a change of linen and some
collars with the laundry mark, S. H. In the leather tag on the
handle was a card with the name Simon Harrington, Pittsburg. The
conductor sat down on my unmade berth, across, and made an entry of
the name and address. Then, on an old envelope, he wrote a few
words and gave it to the porter, who disappeared.

"I guess that's all I can do," he said. "I've had enough trouble
this trip to last for a year. They don't need a conductor on these
trains any more; what they ought to have is a sheriff and a posse."

The porter from the next car came in and whispered to him. The
conductor rose unhappily.