"She would go in the ditch--she could hardly be expected to hold the rail for more than two minutes." "But she did hold it." "I don't believe it," said the old driver; "but if she did, she must have made a hundred miles an hour, and in that case the mystery of Cowels's death is solved--he was drowned." "But his clothes were not wet, and he was still in the window when they reached Galesburg." "I do not mean," said Moran, "that he was drowned in the engine-tank, but in the cab window--in the air." "That sounds absurd." "Try it," said the prisoner. "Get aboard of Blackwings, strike the summit at Zero Hill with her lever hooked back and her throttle wide open, let a strong man hold your head out at the window, and if she hangs to the rail your successor will have the rare opportunity of writing you up." "Do you mean that seriously?" "I do. If what you tell me is true, there can be no shade of doubt as to the cause of Cowels's death." "I believe," said the reporter, "that you predicted his death, or that the train would go in the ditch, did you not?" "No." "I was not present at the examination, but it occurs to me that the man who claimed to be a detective, and who made the arrest, swore that you had made such a prediction." "Perhaps," said Moran. "The truth is when that fellow was giving his testimony I was ignorant of Cowels's death, upon whose evidence I hoped to prove that the fellow was lying wilfully, or that he had misunderstood me, and later, I was so shocked and surprised at the news of my old fireman's death that I forgot to make the proper explanation to the magistrate." "Why not make that explanation now? These are trying times and men are not expected to be as guarded in their action as in times of peace." "If you hope to learn from me that I had anything to do with Cowels's death, or with the placing of the dynamite upon the locomotive, I am afraid you are wasting your time. Suppose you are an army officer, the possessor of a splendid horse--one that has carried you through hundreds of battles, but has finally been captured by the enemy. You are fighting to regain possession of the animal with the chances of success and failure about equally divided, but you have an opportunity, during the battle, to slay this horse, thereby removing the remotest chance of ever having it for yourself again, to say nothing of the wickedness of the act,--would you do it?" "I should say not." "And yet, I venture to say," said the prisoner, "that there is no love for a living thing that is not human, to equal the love of a locomotive engineer for his engine. To say that he would wilfully and maliciously wreck and ruin the splendid steed of steel that had carried him safely through sun and storm is utterly absurd." "But what was it, Mr. Moran, that you said about the train going in the ditch?"