“One autumn night, three months later, a man boarded a train as it was leaving a country station.
“The night was the counterpart of the one that witnessed the finding of the dying passenger in the coach, and the person who had nimbly leaped upon the platform unlocked the car with the sang froid of a privileged person.
“He passed through the well-filled coach, and presently faced the messenger, who was at cards with the conductor. Both men started when they beheld the newcomer; but they soon recognised him and gave him a friendly hand.
“‘No man yet,’ said Conductor Golden, with a light laugh, as he looked up into their visitor’s face. ‘The trail is long, and will in time, no doubt, grow tiresome.’
“‘But I have reached the end of it!’ said the detective, seriously, and the conductor rose to his feet.
“‘Good!’ he exclaimed. “Tobey, we will drink to Dixon’s success.’
“‘You must drink soon, then,’ was the reply, and a revolver quietly slipped from the detective’s pocket.
“‘John Golden,’ he continued, ‘I arrest you for the murder of George Green. You allured his sister, Natalie, from her home, and swore to kill him because he followed you. That vow you have kept: you met him in your through coach, the night was dark, and he your sole passenger. Then and there you imbrued your hands with blood, and removed from his person traces of his identity. Deny not the charges, for I am prepared to prove each and every one! Tobey, there are a brace of handcuffs in my pocket.’
“The astonished messenger moved towards the detective, when with a cry of horror the conductor leaped to the half-open express door.
“Dixon sprang forward to arrest him, but was too late.