“Which girl?” “You know,” she said, “the girl you--care about.” “Why, you of course,” he said in surprise. Her hands slipped down from his forehead covering his eyes. “Say that again,” she mimicked. “You,” he repeated. “You see I am more obliging than you were.” “And you would not come in with us, not even for me?” “Not even for you.” She did not speak for some time. “How did you know we were here?” she asked. “I knew you could be nowhere else,” he said. “You are an awfully arrogant young man, aren’t you? Do you know how it was all done?” He nodded. “The train ran into the tunnel where you had a long motor-car mounted with flanged wheels and having three green lamps on the front and two red tail lamps behind. That was the ‘train’ which the signalman saw dashing through the rain and you had a horrible siren.” She laughed softly. “It was terrible, wasn’t it?” she admitted. “Do you remember that day you were in Crime Street? You heard it.” He recalled the uncanny sound which had then excited his curiosity. “When you got to the level crossing gates, the car was lifted off the rail and went on to the road. It followed the tram lines for some distance where it turned into a convenient garage, which I suppose you had already arranged for?” “That’s right,” she nodded. “The train went no farther than the tunnel. It then backed on to a side track. Gregori had his Italian workmen ready and fixed up the buffer which had been dropped--you know the rest. The hole behind the buffer and the green scum--that was your idea, I suppose.” “It was cunning, wasn’t it, and did you see the rust I made?” “It is a fortunate thing you are dying young, Kate,” he said; “you have a criminal mind.” “But I haven’t a criminal mind,” she protested; “it is a game, a sort of highly complicated jigsaw puzzle. Do you ever read detective stories?” “Very seldom.” “But you have read them?” she persisted. “I have read one or two,” he confessed. “Did the men who wrote those have criminal minds? It was a game to them. It was a game to me. I know it is all wrong, horribly wrong, but I never thought I should realize that much. I thought nothing would turn me.” “And what has turned you?” he asked. She hesitated. “I don’t know what it is,” she said shaking her head. “It is a curious feeling that I get when I meet one man in the world. A feeling that makes my heart turn to ice and makes me tremble. That is all it is, Mike--how do you think they are going to do it?” Her thoughts had gone back to the approaching end. “Heaven knows,” said Michael. “I haven’t any time to think of it. I am thinking of something else. Why do they keep the steam up in that engine?” he asked. “It was Gregori’s idea,” she said; “he had the hole filled in to-day and the buffer taken down. He thought it might be useful to let the engine run on to the main line and block it. That is, if we had word that they were sending a lot of police down to search this part of the country.”