Lister smiled and, pushing back his cap, touched his forehead.
"I know something about Shillito. That's his mark!"
"Then you were the man he knocked out!" Vernon exclaimed. "But he hasn't got your money. Why did you help the police?"
"It isn't very obvious. Somehow, I didn't like the fellow. Then, you see, the girl—"
"The girl? What had a girl to do with it?"
Lister frowned. He had not meant to talk about the girl and was angry because he had done so, but did not see how he could withdraw his careless statement. Moreover Vernon looked interested, and it was important that both were typical Canadians. The young Canadian is not subtle; as a rule, his talk is direct, and at awkward moments he is generally marked by a frank gravity. Vernon was grave now and Lister thought he pondered. He had not known Vernon long, but he felt one could trust him.
"I met a girl on board the train," he said. "She was keen about getting away from Shillito."
"Why did she want to get away?"
"I don't know. Looked as if she was afraid of him. When I first saw her she was on the car platform and I reckoned she was bracing herself to jump off. Since we were running across a trestle, I pulled her from the steps. That's how the thing began."
"But it didn't stop just then?"