"No."
"I should have gone on home to-night if I had known that. But what are you doing here?"
Raridan told him in a few words. They were following a slight clue, and were going over to the old Poindexter place, in the hope of finding Grant Porter there. Saxton was holding a colloquy with the driver of the station hack who had come in quest of passengers, and he hurried off with the man to get a buckboard.
The conductor signaled with his lantern to go ahead, and the engine answered with a doleful peal of the bell. The porter had gathered up the bishop's things and waited for him to step aboard.
"Never mind," the bishop said to him; "I won't go to-night." The train was already moving and the bishop turned to Raridan and Wheaton. "I'll wait and see what comes of this."
"Very well," said Raridan. "We won't need our bags. We can leave them with the station agent." Wheaton stepped forward eagerly, glad to have something to do; he had not slept and was grateful for the cover of darkness which shut him out from the others.
"Gentlemen with flasks had better take them," said Warry, opening his bag. "It's a cold morning!"
"Wretchedly intemperate man," said the bishop. "Where's yours, Mr. Wheaton?"
"I haven't any," Wheaton answered.