"I am listening."

There was a sullen echo in the man's voice that boded an outburst
soon.

"A gentleman of your build and complexion boarded the train at a
station just south of Chicago one night in April. At another station
two companions joined this man, according to previous agreement. One
was almost a boy in years, an escaped convict; and these three men
during the night entered the express car, murdered the agent, and went
through the safe. Just before reaching Black Hollow the three men left
the car. One of the three was tall and had red hair and beard. This
man, after the slaughter, left a trace behind that has led to his
identity. He left the imprint of a bloody hand on a white handkerchief
that he took from the pocket of his victim. That handkerchief was
afterward found, and the bloody mark compared with the hand of the
assassin."

"That could hardly be possible. Hands are many of them alike,"
articulated Mr. Elliston, nervously.

"True, but in this case a wart, of peculiar shape, gave the man away.
The mark of his bloody hand, leaving the wart's impress, was not only
on the handkerchief, but left against the white shirt-front of the
murdered man as well. The man who committed the murder read of the
clew in a Chicago paper, and, to obliterate the tell-tale evidence, he
cut the wart from his hand and dropped it under the seat while
journeying through Iowa in disguise, on an emigrant train."

The face of Elliston had become white as death, and he trembled from