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 that I was gathering beetles on the track. That comes of trying to explain to an Englishman."

"And you?"

"Oh, I said nothing. I wanted to get out. I paid my fine, and bought a new hat, and came up here before noon next morning. There were a lot of people in the house, and I told 'em I 'd been unavoidably detained, and then they began to recollect engagements elsewhere. Hackman must have seen the fight on the track and made a story of it. I suppose they thought it was distinctly American—confound 'em! It 's the only time in my life that I've ever flagged a train, and I would n't have done it but for that scarab. 'T would n't hurt their old trains to be held up once in a while."

"Well, it 's all over now," I said, choking a little. "And your name didn't get into the papers. It is rather transatlantic when you come to think of it."

"Over!" Wilton grunted savagely. "It 's only just begun. That trouble with the guard was just common, ordinary assault—merely a little criminal business. The flagging of the train is civil,—infernally civil,—and means something quite different. They 're after me for that now."

"Who?"

"The Great Buchonian. There was a man in court watching the case on behalf of the Company. I gave him my name in a quiet corner before I bought my hat, and—come to dinner now; I' ll show you the results afterwards."

The telling of his wrongs had worked Wilton Sargent into a very fine temper, and I do not think that my