“Don’t you remember,” Jimmie whispered to Ben, “that DuBois bought that hand-bag of a porter on the Pullman-car which carried a sick man in a private stateroom across the continent?”
“What’s that got to do with it?” demanded Carl.
“Wait a moment!” advised Jimmie. “Watch the Englishman’s face to see if he recognizes the dead man.”
“Is this another page out of your dream-book?” asked Carl.
“How do we know” demanded Jimmie impatiently, “that DuBois didn’t see a score of times on that trip the man who occupied the stateroom with the man who was sick?”
“Oh, I see!” Carl said. “You think this man lying here dead is the man who stood at the corridor door that day?”
“I didn’t say so!” whispered Jimmie. “I said to watch for some sign of recognition in the Englishman’s face.”
The Englishman bent over the dead man, searching outline of face and figure under the dim light of the stars. The boys heard a little exclamation of impatience, and then DuBois motioned to Ben to advance his searchlight so as to bring the dead face under its rays.
Ben did so immediately and the Englishman stood for what seemed to be a long time looking downward with a puzzled face. He brought his hand to his brow several times as if seeking to urge his slow brain into action and finally turned away without saying a word.
“That was a bad fall!” Ben said, seeking to engage the Englishman in conversation. “We came near lying where he does this minute.”