Shively made ready to follow the conductor. “Keep your eye on Ito,” he muttered to Barclay in passing, then louder: “Come with me, Norcross. I want you to telegraph to Spartanburg for a stomach pump, while I get a wire off to the librarian.”
A second more and Barclay and the Japanese had the smoker to themselves. Barclay did not relish being stared out of countenance by a bit of yellow parchment, but he never permitted his glance to waver before the steady regard of the oblique black eyes. Ito was the first to speak.
“Will the honorable sir permit that I dine?” he asked.
At the request Barclay awoke to the realization that he was half famished. Tilghman’s tragic death had put all thought of dinner out of his mind. Obviously he must not let the Japanese out of his sight, and there was surely no better place than a dining car for keeping him in full view.
“Of course you can dine,” he said cheerily. “We both will; go ahead, Mr. Ito, and I’ll follow.”
They made their way through the long train and on reaching the dining car were given a table for two. After giving his order to their waiter, Barclay settled back in his chair with a sigh of relief; the change from the gloomy smoker and its tragic happenings, to the cheery dining car, flooded with light and echoing with the laughter and chatter of gay passengers, was a tonic in itself to his frayed nerves.
Not waiting for the return of their waiter, Barclay lifted the carafe and leaning over poured some water into Ito’s glass. The courtesy received no acknowledgment, for the Japanese was intent on drawing a design on the spotless tablecloth. Barclay watched each stroke of the pencil in idle curiosity, but suddenly the carafe remained poised in air, for with the skill of a born artist, there grew under the Japanese’s hand an exquisite design of the chrysanthemum—the identical design which, done in delicate tracery, made Julian Barclay’s silver brandy flask unique.
CHAPTER IV
THE ALIBI
“You deny, then, having seen that chrysanthemum design on my silver flask?” persisted Barclay, his anger rising at Ito’s evasive replies to his repeated question.
The Japanese thoughtfully contemplated the soup tureen which the waiter placed impartially midway between the two men.