It was in front of this station that a smoothly shaven, well-dressed
man brushed past Gallegher and hurried up the steps to the ticket
office.

He held a walking-stick in his right hand, and Gallegher, who now
patiently scrutinized the hands of every one who wore gloves, saw that
while three fingers of the man's hand were closed around the cane, the
fourth stood out in almost a straight line with his palm.

Gallegher stopped with a gasp and with a trembling all over his little
body, and his brain asked with a throb if it could be possible. But
possibilities and probabilities were to be discovered later. Now was
the time for action.

He was after the man in a moment, hanging at his heels and his eyes
moist with excitement. He heard the man ask for a ticket to
Torresdale, a little station just outside of Philadelphia, and when he
was out of hearing, but not out of sight, purchased one for the same
place.

The stranger went into the smoking-car, and seated himself at one end
toward the door. Gallegher took his place at the opposite end.

He was trembling all over, and suffered from a slight feeling of
nausea. He guessed it came from fright, not of any bodily harm that
might come to him, but at the probability of failure in his adventure
and of its most momentous possibilities.

The stranger pulled his coat collar up around his ears, hiding the
lower portion of his face, but not concealing the resemblance in his