At the Time Appointed

Again he heard the low tones, this time a note of danger in them,-"No fooling! Hand that money over, lively!"

With a spring, as sudden and noiseless as a panther's, Whitcomb grappled

with the man, knocking the revolver from his hand upon the bed. A

quick, desperate, silent struggle followed. Whitcomb suddenly reached

for the revolver; as he did so Darrell saw a flash of steel in the dim

light, and the next instant his friend sank, limp and motionless, upon

the bed.

"Fool!" he heard the man mutter, with an oath.

An involuntary groan escaped from Darrell's lips. Slight as was the

sound, the man heard it and turned, facing him; the latter was screened

by the curtains, and the man, seeing no one, returned to his work, but

that brief glance had revealed enough to Darrell that he knew he could

henceforth identify the murderer among a thousand. In the struggle the

mask had been partially pushed aside, exposing a portion of the man's

face. A scar of peculiar shape showed white against the olive skin,

close to the curling black hair. But to Darrell the pre-eminently

distinguishing characteristic of that face was the eyes. Of the most

perfect steel blue he had ever seen, they seemed, as they turned upon

him in that intense glance, to glint and scintillate like the points of

two rapiers in a brilliant sword play, while their look of concentrated

fury and malignity, more demon-like than human, was stamped ineffaceably

upon his brain.

Having secured as much as he could find of the money, the murderer left

hastily and silently, and a few moments later the guards, after a

warning to the passengers not to leave their berths, took their

departure.

Having partially dressed, Darrell at once sprang across the aisle and

took Whitcomb's limp form in his arms. His heart still beat faintly, but

he was unconscious and bleeding profusely. All had been done so silently

and swiftly that no one outside of Darrell dreamed of murder, and soon

the enforced silence began to be broken by hurried questions and angry

exclamations. A man cursed over the loss of his money and a woman sobbed

hysterically. Suddenly, Darrell's incisive tones rang through the

sleeper.

"For God's sake, see if there is a surgeon aboard! Here is a man

stabbed, dying; don't stop to talk of money when a life is at stake!"

Instantly all thought of personal loss was for the time forgotten, and

half a dozen men responded to Darrell's appeal. When it became known

throughout the train what had occurred, the greatest excitement

followed. Train officials, hurrying back and forth, stopped, hushed and

horror-stricken, beside the section where Darrell sat holding Whitcomb

in his arms. Passengers from the other coaches crowded in, eager to

offer assistance that was of no avail. A physician was found and came

quickly to the scene, who, after a brief examination, silently shook his

head, and Darrell, watching the weakening pulse and shortening gasps,

needed no words to tell him that the young life was ebbing fast.