“Oh, the porter was there.”
“Sure?”
“Yes. I saw him standing on the lower step of the forward vestibule; anyone passing into the smoker from that end would have attracted his attention, and railroad officials assured me they could place reliance on the porter’s word and efficiency.”
McLane started to speak, then thinking better of it, sat silent contemplating his two companions.
“Did you hear no sound inside the car?” asked Calhoun.
“No. Norcross was telling me of a trip to South America as I sat below him on the step of the vestibule. We neither of us heard a sound from the interior of the car.”
“By sound, I mean a cry for help, or raised voices quarreling,” persisted Calhoun, looking directly at Shively.
“I heard none,” declared Shively positively. “And I am sure we would have heard had Tilghman been quarreling with anyone, for most of the windows were raised and screened.”
“But the noises of a railroad station might have drowned even raised voices,” objected McLane.
“I think not,” Shively pulled his chair nearer. “Norcross and I conversed in our ordinary tones, and heard each other without difficulty.”