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 much before dark; they had left Beauce thirty minutes ago, all of two hours late, and it was safe to say that they had been losing time steadily ever since. Well, it mattered little, he reflected, and settled himself back against the cushion, half-drowsily watching the purple-gray smoke of his cigar billow up into the cold white light of the windows. Ten minutes passed and the opening of a door at the farther end of the car aroused him. Presently the conductor passed the smoking-room and Wade hailed him.

"The track between here and St. Henri Junction isn't clear yet, sir," the conductor explained patiently. "I think we'll be held up here at least an hour, sir. Sorry, but we'll get into Quebec in plenty of time for supper."

Wade grunted skeptically as the conductor vanished with a smile that at once disclaimed responsibility and begged indulgence. Wade went out into the car and got his coat and slipped it on. A glance