Mathison undressed slowly. He was still hypnotized to a certain extent by the several amazing events of the night. From the shadowy corners of the compartment the woman\'s face persisted in appearing, now in all its warm loveliness, now in terror, and again like chiseled marble. It would be a long time before he would be able to stamp out completely the impression. It did not seem possible that any woman could be so lovely outside and so ugly within. The venom in her glance, just before she stepped out of the window!

The thought of Hallowell hurt more than anything else. Unavenged! Bob would lie in his island grave unavenged. But before God, he, John Mathison, would take a double tithe from the Hun. No mercy. Never would he hear the word Kamerad. Soon the number on his free-board would spell Terror.

[Pg 174]

He uncovered Malachi and knelt beside the cage. "Mat!... Malachi!" he said. "Mat!... Malachi!" But the only sign from the bird was a ruffling of the neck and topknot feathers, a quick dilation of his yellow eyes. Two or three minutes earlier in getting into that room, while the bird\'s fright was at full! No way to make him understand; he was only a parrakeet, an echo. "Mat!... Malachi!" It was Bob calling; the little bird was only an echo.

Suddenly Mathison stood up, his face eager. A real idea! And it never would have entered his head but for the startling revelation of what suggestion might accomplish. If the woman\'s tempestuous actions had awakened the bird\'s recollection, what might a reconstruction of the crime do? Men apparently in desperate conflict, tables and chairs threshed about, tumult, cries! How would these react upon Malachi\'s memory?

Of course no jury would convict a man of a crime upon evidence furnished by a talking parrakeet; but if, by reconstructing the tragedy, Malachi could be made to repeat the name Hallowell had called out,[Pg 175] it would serve to give the authorities a handhold. Trust them to dig up the truth eventually. For Mathison was obsessed with the idea that Hallowell had spoken a name for Malachi to repeat.

Sleep—the lack of sleep. They never would have gotten to him but for the craving to sleep. He had gone into the town feeling as keen mentally as ever, and his keenness had been only superficial. He had sought the open without any definite campaign. Want of sleep. His flesh and bones had been crying out for sleep, and his brain stifling the call. Patience. They had had a little more than John Mathison.

To-night, however, he would satisfy the craving. There would be no more sleep-fumes or pistol-shots or turning door-knobs.

By one o\'clock the car Mercutio was as silent as the tomb of Romeo\'s friend.

Tap, tap; pause; tap, tap.

Mathison was asleep, but as yet he had not conquered that subconscious alertness of the mind. The sound, light as it was, awoke him. The porter\'s signal. Mathison buried his head deeper into the pillow.

Tap, tap; pause; tap, tap.

"What\'s wanted?" he called, irritably.

[Pg 176]

There was no answer. The tapping was not repeated.

He was too drunk with sleep to get the real significance. He turned over and fell asleep again instantly. He came out of this leaden slumber at seven. The train was moving, having made up two hours in the makeshift schedule. The storm outside had lost but little of its vigor. He bathed and dressed and rang for the porter.

"Have the waiter bring me grape-fruit, oatmeal, and coffee."

"Yes, suh."

"What time will we make New York, if this keeps up?"

"About six-thutty."

"Did you rap about one o\'clock?"

"No, suh."

"You didn\'t?"

"No, suh. What\'s de matter wid dat hotel? Dey all comes rampagin\' back befo\' yo\' did."

"Passengers in number two?"

"Yes, suh."

"All the passengers returned?"

"On de Mercutio; yes, suh." The whites of George\'s eyes began to show.

As for that, so did Mathison\'s. On board,[Pg 177] when, logically, they should be miles and miles away by this hour, by any means of locomotion they could obtain! Here was a thundering mystery.

"George, is there a lady next door?"

"Yes, suh."

"Beautiful, with blonde hair?"

"Hain\'t seen de lady\'s face, suh."

"Sable coat?"

George nodded. He pushed back his cap. "Boss, I oughtn\'t t\' tell yo\'; but de man in two is a Secret Service man, an\' he\'s goin\' t\' jump yo\' de minute we gits int\' New York State. \'Tain\'t none o\' my business whut yo\' done, but I\'d kind o\' like to give yo\' a chance t\' beat it. Ef yo\' say so, I can open de trap befo\' we gits int\' Buffalo an\' slip yo\' out."

"George, you\'re a top-hole! But how did you learn that this man is a Secret Service agent?"

"He done show me de ca\'d signed by Flynn."

"Describe him."

"Big, hair pale yelluh, nice-lookin\' an\' friendly."

Mathison wondered if he wasn\'t asleep. With the manila envelope and the red book[Pg 178] in their possession, they were still on the train! What had happened?

"The man has been asking you questions about me?"

"Yes, suh. Count o\' dat ca\'d I had t\' ansuh."

"How does he spend his time?"

"Playin\' auction wid two friends. Dey\'s Secret Service, too," George added, gloomily.

Four of them. And the three men had taken turns, all the way across the continent, in keeping him awake; bribed this porter, too, to keep tabs and report. Until his encounter with The Yellow Typhoon, Mathison had had no real idea of the number or the descriptions of his pursuers. But still on board! That was confounding. It wasn\'t logical.... He stiffened. To kill him, now that he could identify the woman? To swing him off into the dark before he could get his forces together. There was logic in that. He smiled at the porter.

"George, I\'ve an idea there must be a case of mistaken identity in all this. They mistook me at the hotel last night. There was a row, and I came back."

George shifted his cap to his right ear and stared briefly at the slashed kit-bags.

[Pg 179]

"If I\'d have been the man they thought I was I wouldn\'t be here."

George straightened his cap. There was something in this explanation that pleased him.

"Has the Secret Service man asked my name?"

"No, suh."

"Just as I thought. He\'s sure I\'m the man; just as they were sure at the hotel. Well, I sha\'n\'t worry. Everything will be explained when I reach the Waldorf. You might drop him the hint I\'m going there. It will save a lot of trouble. But of course it wouldn\'t be wise for him to know I told you to tell him."

"I undahstan\', suh."

"Then I\'ll have my breakfast."

On the wall-hook in compartment 6 hung a beautiful rose-kimono. There are thousands upon thousands of these lovely robes. They look exactly alike until you examine them, and then you note that they differ as roses themselves differ.

In compartment 2 there was also a rose-kimono. It was wrapped about the graceful body of The Yellow Typhoon. She[Pg 180] wound a veil about her head, dropping it to the tip of her nose. Then she picked up her dress, her toilet-bag, and started off for the ladies\' dressing-room. There wasn\'t room to dress in the compartment, as the berths had not been made up. She had slept through the major part of the day. She floated past compartment 6, the door of which was slightly ajar. It had been slightly ajar ever since the departure from Chicago.

Fifteen minutes later George, the porter, heard the buzzer. Passenger in 6 was calling. He hurried off. It was George\'s trysting-hour. Tips.

"The luggage to the trap, please. We wish to leave instantly the train stops at One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street."

"Yes\'m."

"I note that you wear a Liberty Bond button."

"Yes\'m. Got two."

"Then you are a good American?"

"I sho\' is, ma\'am."

"Very well, then. Here is a box. After the train leaves One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street, you will give this box to the gentleman in compartment one. I am trusting[Pg 181] you because I have to. It is military. If you fail to deliver it you betray your country, and in that case woe to you! He will ask you who gave it to you. You will tell him the lady in compartment two."

"Yes\'m!" George\'s tongue had grown suddenly and mysteriously thick and dry.

"And here is something for your trouble."

It was a gold note for fifty dollars. George\'s brain became nearly as dry as his tongue. Even as he folded the bill and tucked it into a pocket the train began to slow down. He swooped up the luggage and staggered out into the corridor, where he was obliged to hug the partition to permit the............