Thought had carried him this far. Mary Asheton would necessarily take one of the horns of her dilemma. She would either leave the train at Jaffa Junction, as per program, to find herself at the mercy of a rude and woman-hating man, or she would receive a quick and unsoftened warning from the aforesaid brutal person, in which event she would continue on her way, heartbroken, to aunty and Europe. If she were indeed marooned at Jaffa Junction, the essential thing was to establish communication with that point. Hence, the first step was to find a telephone. If, on the other hand, Burrow had warned her, the one indispensable step was to flag the east-bound train as it passed his own isolated spot. Without knowledge of time or place he could not risk leaving the track, because he could have no idea when the train might pass. Perhaps this minstrel, whose voice had come to him through the curtain of darkness, might have a watch. Perhaps he might become an ally. Without a lantern Mr. Copewell could not flag the train unless he built a fire. Obviously, therefore, he must kindle a blaze and open negotiations with the unknown singer. Under the sudden stimulus of revivified hope Mr. Copewell became facetious. “Hello, you, Caruso!” he shouted. * * * * * Even before Mr. Copewell hailed him Mr. Connors had noted that the man who appeared in the night so near him was dressed too well to be a fellow vagabond. His photographic eyes had recorded this fact when the sputtering match had caught a red reflection on the watch-case with the glint and color of gold. It might have been wiser, reflected Mr. Connors, to have remained silent and slipped up on this gentleman in the official capacity of a thief in the night. His tell-tale song had, however, made that impossible, so he decided upon permitting events to shape them selves. If it came to a crisis, Rat had, in his inside pocket, his “cannister” which was of .38 caliber and dependable. “Hello yourself, bo!” responded Mr. Connors with affability. “Did you git t’rowed off de dangler, too?” “I beg your pardon?” inquired Mr. Copewell. It began to dawn on him that this person might after all be an undesirable companion. “Did yer light on yer neck offen de hurry-up train?” elucidated the other, coming amicably forward and striking a match. The two men regarded each other in the temporary illumination. “No,” said Mr. Copewell, “I got off by mistake.” “Same here,” declared Mr. Connors. “De conductor guy made de mistake. De brakeman helped him.” For a moment Mr. Copewell stood hesitant. Mr. Connors was not just the man he would have selected to assist in retrieving his disastrously threatened life, but there was small choice of collaborators. “Have you a watch?” he demanded. “Mine has stopped.” “Sorry,” replied Mr. Connors with a grin. “I loaned me ticker ter a pal.”