"Good God!" he exclaimed. "What can all this mean? You came from New
York City?"
"Yes; I had been there a month attending to some business."
"And when you left for the coast, you took the midnight train on the
New York Central?"
"Yes. I had intended taking an earlier one, but was delayed."
"You bought return tickets at the station?"
"No; I had return tickets; they had to be validated."
"Then your name was signed to them; what is your usual signature?"
"F. Cavendish."
"I thought so. Stella, this has all been a strange blunder, but it is perfectly clear how it happened. That man Beaton evidently had never seen Frederick Cavendish. He was simply informed that he would leave New York on that train. He met this Cavendish on board, perhaps even saw his signature on the ticket, and cultivated his acquaintance. The fellow never doubted but what he had the right man."
The wounded man managed to lift himself upon one elbow.