us © rections besides backwards COPYRIGHT BY LITTLE, (Continued from last week). SYNOPSIS CHAPTER I.—Gabriel Warden, Seattle capitalist, tells his butler he is expecting @ caller, to be admitted without question. He informs his wife of danger that threatens him if he pursues a course he considers the only honorable one. War- den leaves the house in his car and meets a man whom he takes into the machine ‘When the car returns home, Warden is found dead, murdered, and alone. The caller, a young man, has been at War- den’s house, but leaves unobserved CHAPTER I11.—Bob Connery, conductor, receives orders to hold train for a party. Five men and a girl board the train The father of the girl, Mr. Dorne, is the person for whom the train was held Philip D. Eaton, a young man, also bearded the train. Dorne tells his daugh- ter and his secretary, Don Avery, to find out what they can concerning him. CHAPTER II1.—The two make Eaton's acquaintance. The train is stopped by snowdrifts. At Tracroft—the station where he was to exchange the ordinary plow which so far had sufliced, and couple on the “rotary” to fight the monn- {ain drifts ahead—Connery swung himself down from the train, looked in at the telegraph office and then went forward to the two giant loce motives, on whose sweating, mon. strous backs the snow, suddenly vis- qble in the haze of their lights, melted qs it fell. As they started. he swung aboard and in the brightly lizhted men’s compartment of the first Pull | man checked up his report sheets with a stub of pencil. Again they stopped—once more went on. Conner,, having put his papers into his pocket, dozed, awoke, dozed again, The progress of the train halted again and again; several times it backed, charged forward again— only to stop, back and charge aga and then go on. But this did not dis- turb Connery. Then something went wrong. All at once he found himself, by a trainman’s instinctive and automatic action, upon his feet; for the shock had been so slight as barely to be felt, far too slight certainly to have awakened any of the sleeping passen- gers in their berths. door of the car, lifted the platform stop, threw open the door of the ves- tibule and hanging himself by one hand to the rail, swung himself out from the side of the car and looked ahead. He saw tue forward one of the two locomotives wrapped in clouds of steam, and men arm-deep in snow wallowing forward to the rotary stil farther to the front, and the sight con- formed fully to his apprehension that this halt was more important and likely to last much longer than those that had gone before. CHAPTER IV Are You Hillward? The bell in the washroom at the end of the car was ringing violently, and someone was reinforcing his ring with a stentorian eall for “Porteri Porter!” Eaton realized that it was very coli in his berth—also that the train, which was standing still, had been in that motionless condition for some time. He threw up the window cur- tain as he appreciated that, and, look- ing out, found that he faced a great unbroken bank of glistening white snow as high as the top of the car at this point and rising even higher ahead. He listened, therefore, while the Englishman—for the voice calling to the porter was his—extracted all available information from the negro. “Porter, where are we?” “Between Fracroft and Simons, suh.” Yet?” “Yessuh, yit!” “That foolish snow still?” “Yessuh; and snow some more, suh?”’ “But haven't we the plow still ahead?” “Oh, yessuh; the plow's ahaid. We still got it; but that’s all, suh., Ii ain't doin’ much; it's busted.” “Eh—what?” “Yessuh—busted! There was right ~smart of a slide across the track, and the crew, I understands, diagnosed it F¢' a snow bank and done ‘packed right into it. But they was rock in this, suh: we’s layin right below a hill; and that rock jus’ busted that rotary like a Belgium shell hit it. essuh—pleces of that rotary essen- tially scattered themselves in four di and fo'- * wards. ‘We ain't done much travelin’ &iwes then.” Faton no longer paid attention. s#gnowed in and stopped since four!” The realization startled him «vith the necessity of taking it into account in his plans. He jerked hirn- gelf up in his berth and began pulling is clothes down {rom the hooks; thea, as abruptly, he stopped dressing and gat absorbed in thought. Ie had let himself sink back against the piliows, while he stared, unseelngly, at the golid bank of snow beside the ear, when the door at the farther end of =—=The BLIND MANS EYES BY | WILLIAM MACHARGEDWIN BALMER. [llustrations by R.H.Livingstone BROWN, AND COMPANY. He went to the | the coach opened and Conductor Con- nery entered, calling a name. : “Mr. Hillerd! Mr. Lawrence Hill ward! Telegram for Mr. Hillward!” ¥aton started at the first call of the name; he sat up and faced about. The conductor was opposite Section Three; Eaton now waited tensely and delayed until the conductor was past: then putting his head out of his cur- tains he hailed as the conductor was going through the door. “What name? Who is that tele- gram for?” “Mr. Lawrence Hillward.” “Oh, thank you; thep that’s mine.” Connery held back. “I thought your name was Eaton.” It Is. Mr. Hillward—Lawrerco Hillward—is an associate of mine who expected to make this trip with me but could not. So 1 should have tele: grams or other communications ad- dressed to him. Is there anything to sign?” “No, sir—train delivery.” and ripped the envelope open; but be- fore reading the message he observed with alarm that bis pajama jockes had opened across the chest, and a small round scar, such as that left by a high-powered bullet penetrating, was exposed. He gasped almost au- dibly, realizing this, and clapped his hand to his chest and buttoned his | jacket. The message—nine words ! without signature—lay before him: “Thicket knot youngster omniscient issue foliage lecture tragic instiga- tion.” It was some code which Eaton ree- ognized but could not decipher at once. The conductor was still stand- ing in the aisle. “When did you asked. looking out. “Just now. Flat get this?’ Eaton message waiting for you at Simons: wot them this morning they on.” sent it it the conductor had seen anything he suspected no significance in what lie saw. closed his curtains and buttoned them carefully. The conductor moved on. Iaton took a small English-Chi- nese pocket dictionary from his vest pocket and opened it under cover of the blanket: counting five words up from “thicket” he found “they”; five six down from ‘‘omniscient” was “one:” seven up from “issue” was “ig; and so continuing. he translated the words to: “They know you. One is following. Leave train instantly.” Eaton, nervous and jerky, as he completed the first six words, laughed as he compiled the final three. “Leave train instantly!” The humor of that advice in his present situation. as he looked out the window at the A waiter from the dining car came back, announcing the first call for breakfast, and spurred him into ac- tion. Passengers from the Pullman at the rear passed Eaton's section for the diner. He heard Harriet Dorne’s voice in some quiet conventional re- mark to the man who followed her. Baton started at it; then he dressed swiftly and hurried nto the now de- serted washroom and then on to breakfast. Harriet Dorrne was sitting facing the door at the second of the larger tables; pposite her, and with his back to Eaton, sat Donald Avery. A third place was laid beside the girl, as though they expected Dorne to join them; but they had begun their fruit without waiting. The girl glanced up as Eaton halted in the doorway; her blue eyes brightened with a look part friendliness, part purpose. “Oh, Mr. Eaton,” she smiled, “wouldn’t you like to sit with us? 1 i 7 4) \ a 2 Ve as 1c. Eaton,” She Smiled, “Wouldn't You Like to Sit With Us?” Eaton drew his curtains close again | . 29 under the insult of the other's manner. solid bank of snow, appealed to him. RIS n't think Father is coming to break: 4st now; and if he does, of course ere's still room.” she pulled back the chair beside he: ticingly : and Eaton accepted if. ‘Geod morning, Mr. Avery,” he sai: v Miss Dorne’s companion formallh ax he sat down, and the man acres the table murmured something pe: ioree. As Karon ordered his breakfast, In appreciated for the first time that bi coming had interrupted a convers: tion—or rather a sort of monologzii of complaint on the part of Standis! addressed impersonally to Avery. They engaged in conversation a they breakfasted—a conversation i: which Avery took almost no part though Miss Dorne tried openly t: draw him in; then the sudden en trance of Connery, followesd closely bi a stout, brusque man who belonged to the rear Pullman, took Eaton's a tention and hers *YWhich 1s him?” the man with Con. nery demanded loudly. Connery checked him, but pointed at the same time to Eaton. “That’s him, is it?” the other map said. “Then go ahead.” Faton observed that Avery, who had turned in his seat, was watching this diversion on the part of the conductor with interest. Connery stopped bhe- pide Eaton’s seat. “You took a telegrain for Lawrence Hi!lward this morning,” he asserted. YY ex.” “Why? “Because it was mine. or meant for me, as I said at the time. My name is Eaton; but Mr. Hillward expected to make this trip with me.” The stout man with the conductor forced himself forward. “That's pretty good. but not quite good enough!” he charged. “Conduc- i tor, get that telegram for me!” { Eaten got up, controling himselt “What business is it of yours? he demanded. “What business? Why. only that mn Lawrence Hillward—that's all, my friend! What are you up to. anyway? Lawrence Hillward traveling with you! 1 never set eyes on you until I saw you on this train; and you take wy telegram!” The charge was made loudly and distinetly; every one in the dining car—Eaton could. not see every one, but he knew it was so— nad put down fork or cup or spoon and was staring at him. “What did you do it for? What did you want with it?’ the stout man blared on. “Did you think T wasn’t on the train? What?” Eaton felt he was paling as i faced the blustering smaller man. He came | through yesterday some time ond was | when wo © down from “knot” cave him “know”: | six up from “younzster” was “you”; | realized that the passengers he could see—those at the smaller had done the same. Avery was gazing up at him with a sort of contented triumph. “The telegram was for me, Conduc- tor!” he repeated. “Get that telegram, Conductor!” the stout man demanded again. “I suppose,” Connery suggested, “you have letters or a card or some- thing, Mr. Eaton, to show your re- lationship to Lawrence Hillward.” “No, I have not.” Connery gazed from one claimant to the other. “Will you give this gen- tieman the telegram?” he asked Eaton. “1 will not.” “Then I shall furnish him another copy; it was received here on the train by our express clerk as the op- erator. T'll go forward and get him an other copy.” “That's for you to decide,” Eaton said; and as though the matter was closed for him, he resumed his seat. He was aware that, throughout the car the passengers were watching him curiously. “Are you ready to go back to our car now, Harriet?” Avery inquired when she had finished her breakfast, though Eaton was not yet through. “Surely there's no hurry about any- thing today,” the girl returned. They waited until Eaton had finished. “Shall we all go back to the obser- vation car and see if there's a walk down the track or whether it’s snowed over?’ she said impartially to the two. They went through the Pullmans to- gether. The first Pullman contained four or flve passengers; the next, in which Eaton had his berth, was still empty as they passed through. The next Pullman also, at first glance, seemed to have been dese“ted in favor of the diner forward or of the club-car far- ther back. The porter had made uj 8ll the berths there also, except one; but someone was still sleeping behind the curtains of Section Three, for a man’s hand hung over the aisle. It was a gentleman's hand, with long, well-formed fingers, sensitive and at the same time strong. That was the berth of Harriet Dorne’s father; Ea- ton was the last of the three to pass, and so the others did not notice his start; but so strong was the fascina- tion of the hand in the aisle that he turned back and gazed at it before going on into the last car. Some eight or ten passengers—men and women—were lounging in the easy- chairs of the observation room; a couple, ulstered and fur-capped, were he | «Cribbage, Harriet? Avery invited. She shook Ler head. “If we have to niay cards, get a fourth and make it auction: but mist it be cards? Isn't (here sone way we can get out for a walk?” “here's the top of the cars, Miss prorne.” Ikton sngpested. “If we sonld get up these. we'd get a fairly decent walk and see everything.” sGood I” the girl applauded. “How do we get up?” “ll see the conductor about it” maton offered ; and before Avery could Alscuss it, he started back through the train. CHAPTER V The Hand in the Aisle. ‘fhe man whose interest in the pas- sepger in Section Three of the last sleeper was most definite and under- erandable and. therefore, most openip wente. was Conductor Connery. Cone nory had passed through the Pullman ceveral times during the morning, had seen the hand which hung out into roe aisle from between the curtains; hut the only definite thought that eame to him was that Dorne was a sound sleeper. Nearly all the passengers had now vreakfasted. Cennery, therefore, took a seat in the diner, breakfasted lei- surely and after finishing, walked back through the train. Dorne by pow must be up, and might wish to see the conductor. As Connery entered the last sleeper his gaze fell on the dial of pointers which, communicating with the push- buttons in the different berths, tell the porter which section is calling him, and he saw that while all the other arrows were pointing upward, the ar row marked “3” was pointing down. Dorne was up, then—for this was the arrow denoting his berth—or at least was awake and had recently rung his bell. Jonnery looked in upon the porter, who was cleaning up the washroom. “Section Three's getting up?’ he asked. “Neo, Mistah Connery—not yet,” the porter answered. “What did he ring for?” Connery looked to the dial, and the porter came out of the washroom and looked ot it also. “Fo’ the lan’s sake. I didn’t hear ro ring. Mistah Connery. It mus’ have heen when I was out on the plat- form.” “Answer it, then,” Connery directed. As the negro started to obey, Con- nery followed him into the open car. fe could see over the negro’'s shoul © der the hand sticking out into the . aisle, and this time, at sight of it. tables— : already had judged his explanation | ! and found him wanting; the others { unquestionably “] see: thanks.” Eaton, assured that nee standing on the platform gazing back : from the train. The canyon through the snowdrifts, bored by the giant rotary plow the night before, wus almost filled; drifts of snow eight or ten feet high and. in places, pointing still higher, came up to the rear of the train; the end ef the platform itself was buried un- “ap three feet of snow; the ren stand- sng on the platform