turned on fully, and then the visitor found himself confronted by
Harry Bernard, whom he had met once or twice in Woodburg, many months
before.

"Eh!" ejaculated Elliston. "So you are the man who wrote that note
requesting an interview? Well, I am glad to see you, Mr. Bernard," and
Elliston held out his hand, with a smile wreathing his thin lips.

"I imagined you would be," returned the youth. "I am glad to see you
so well. Fact is, you are badly wanted out in Illinois at the present
time."

"I am sorry that I cannot accommodate my friends out there," returned
Elliston, with a frown; "but it is wholly out of the question. I think
I will bid you good evening, Mr. Bernard. I cannot waste precious time
here."

He turned and grasped the door-knob. It did not yield to his touch.

"Not just yet, Mr. Elliston," said Harry. "I wish to ask you a few
questions."

"Well?"

"What do you know of the murder of Arnold Nicholson on the midnight
express, south of Chicago, some weeks ago?"

"I read of it, of course."

Mr. Elliston pulled nervously at his glove as he answered.