The single exception was a tall, loose-jointed man, who, with his chair turned toward the windows, sat with long legs doubled up almost to his chin and a book face-down in his lap. As the door opened he turned his head and looked attentively at the breathless and still somewhat white-faced youth who entered. Joe paused to take another full breath before undertaking the passage of the swaying car and in that moment his eyes encountered those of the man. The man raised a long, lean hand and beckoned with a finger. Joe made his way to him and the passenger, undoubling himself, stretched a foot out, hooked it about the leg of the next chair and pulled it beside his own. “Sit down,” he said. He had a remarkable voice, Joe thought, and equally remarkable eyes, very light blue-gray in colour, that somehow compelled obedience. Joe embarrassedly seated himself. “That’s a good way to get killed,” said the man calmly. “Don’t you know that?” “I suppose it is, sir. I didn’t stop to think much about it.” “I wouldn’t make a practice of it. I take it that the other fellow got aboard all right.” “The other fellow?” faltered Joe. “Yes, the――ah――the gentleman who tried to put his fist in your face.” “Oh! You saw――――” “I happened to be looking out the window. You side-stepped very neatly. Fellow a friend of yours?” “Not exactly.” Joe smiled faintly. There was an answering twinkle in the light blue eyes. “No? But you evidently couldn’t bear to part with him. It’s not my business, but I’m curious to know the story. Fact is, I make my living from stories. I get chaps like you to tell them to me and then I write them down and sell them. It’s a very simple way to make a fortune.” Joe smiled uncertainly. It sounded as if the other was joking, but his expression was quite serious. He had a lean, clean-shaven face, with many deep wrinkles. His nose was long and straight and his mouth rather large. Somehow, though, it was a nice face and inspired confidence. “There isn’t much story,” said Joe hesitantly. “The――the other fellow has something that belongs to me and I want to get it.” “Situation Number Three,” murmured the man. “Hackneyed, but capable of interesting and even novel variations.” “Sir?” asked Joe. “May I ask what is the value of the something the other chap has of yours? It’s interesting sometimes to know for what amount a person will risk his life. Personally I wouldn’t do it for less than two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Not now, that is. There was a time, when I was considerably younger, when I dare say I’d have done it for considerably less; say for five thousand――or nothing at all. In your case now――――” “It’s only about seventy-five dollars,” replied Joe. “He――he stole it.” The man nodded. “Naturally. Seventy-five dollars, though, seems an inadequate reward for a broken neck. Any kind of a respectable funeral would cost all of that. I don’t see that you stood to win much.”