“Go ahead, Mr. Ito,” he directed, and added, as Shively opened his mouth to expostulate, “No, no, Doctor, you can’t hold Mr. Ito, for you haven’t proved one thing against him; the librarian confirms his alibi.”
“But why should he leave the train at once, unless he’s running away?” demanded Norcross.
“Mr. Ito was only traveling as far as this anyway,” explained the conductor hurriedly. “His ticket read from Mobile to Spartanburg.”
On impulse Barclay wheeled about and made for the vestibule of the sleeper, but on reaching the platform he found he was too late—Yoshida Ito had vanished. Barclay returned to the smoker in time to hear the conductor’s concluding remark to Dr. Shively.
“Very well, Doctor,” he was saying. “Seeing that this Dr. Leonard McLane, whom Mr. Tilghman was on his way to visit, is his nearest relative, I’ll carry the body to Washington, but there the undertaker will have to ship it back to Atlanta for the coroner’s inquest, provided, of course, that Mr. Tilghman was really poisoned, as the crime must have been committed in the Atlanta jurisdiction.”
“Quite right,” acknowledged Shively. “The porter has just brought me the stomach pump I telegraphed for, and in your presence, Conductor, and that of Professor Norcross and Mr. Barclay, I will make a further and fuller test for trace of poison.”
“That sounds reasonable.” The worried railroad employee looked somewhat relieved. “I’ll join you in the stateroom as soon as the train leaves here. Let me give you the key to the stateroom,” and he dropped it into the physician’s hand.
With a strong feeling of reluctance Barclay accompanied Shively and Norcross into the stateroom. Shively had done what he could with the means at his command to convert the stateroom into an operating office; his bag, bottles, instruments—the latter lying in neat array on one of the couches on which was spread a white sheet. A sheet also was thrown over Tilghman’s body, lying on the other couch. The scene brought vividly to Barclay’s mind the clinics he had attended years before, and as he sniffed the pungent odor of disinfectants, he almost imagined himself back once more obeying the directions of a famous surgeon. Shively’s voice recalled him to his surroundings.
“I examined Tilghman’s pockets hoping to find some clew of the murderer,” explained Shively. “And took pains to replace each article as I found it, as Norcross can testify.” The professor confirmed his statement with a vigorous nod.
“Did you discover anything which might turn into a clew?” inquired Barclay eagerly.