It contained the usual traveling impedimenta--change of linen, collars,
handkerchiefs, a bronze-green scarf, and a safety razor. But the
attention of the crowd riveted itself on a flat, Russia leather
wallet, around which a heavy gum band was wrapped, and which bore in
gilt letters the name "Simon Harrington."



CHAPTER VII

A FINE GOLD CHAIN


The conductor held it out to me, his face sternly accusing.

"Is this another coincidence?" he asked. "Did the man who left you
his clothes and the barred silk handkerchief and the tight shoes
leave you the spoil of the murder?"

The men standing around had drawn off a little, and I saw the
absolute futility of any remonstrance. Have you ever seen a fly,
who, in these hygienic days, finding no cobwebs to entangle him, is
caught in a sheet of fly paper, finds himself more and more mired,
and is finally quiet with the sticky stillness of despair?

Well, I was the fly. I had seen too much of circumstantial evidence
to have any belief that the establishing of my identity would weigh
much against the other incriminating details. It meant imprisonment
and trial, probably, with all the notoriety and loss of practice
they would entail. A man thinks quickly at a time like that. All