"I haven't time to listen."
"Nevertheless, you must take the time," said Harry Bernard, sternly. "Don't attempt to make trouble, sir; you will get the worst of it if you do."
There was a glitter in the eyes of the speaker that was not pleasant to see.
Mr. Elliston sank to a chair, and with an air of resignation said:
"Well, well, this is impudent, but I will listen if it will gratify you."
"It certainly will. I wish to start out with the assertion that you DO know something about the crime on the midnight express, and I will try and convince you that I know what part you acted in the murder of one of the best men in the service of the express company. Don't lose your temper, sir, but listen?"
"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.