Nearly all the passengers had now breakfasted. Connery, therefore, took a seat in the diner, breakfasted leisurely and after finishing, went forward to see what messages had been received as to the relieving snow-plows. Nothing definite yet had been learned; the snow ahead of them was fully as bad as this where they were stopped, and it would be many hours before help could get to them. Connery walked back through the train. Dorne by now must be up, and might wish to see the conductor. Unless Dorne stopped him, however, Connery did not intend to speak to Dorne. The conductor had learned in his many years of service that nothing is more displeasing to the sort of people for whom trains are held than officiousness. As Connery entered the last sleeper, his gaze fell on the dial of pointers which, communicating with the pushbuttons in the different berths, tell the porter which section is calling him, and he saw that while all the other arrows were pointing upward, the arrow marked "3" was pointing down. Dorne was up, then--for this was the arrow denoting his berth--or at least was awake and had recently rung his bell. Connery looked in upon the porter, who was cleaning up the washroom. "Section Three's getting up?" he asked. "No, Mistah Connery--not yet," the porter answered. "What did he ring for?" Connery thought Dorne might have asked for him. "He didn't ring. He ain't moved or stirred this morning." "He must have rung." Connery looked to the dial, and the porter came out of the washroom and looked at it also. "Fo' the lan's sake. I didn't hear no ring, Mistah Connery. It mus' have been when I was out on the platform." "When was that?" "Jus' now. There ain't been nobody but him in the car for fifteen minutes, and I done turn the pointers all up when the las' passenger went to the diner. It can't be longer than a few minutes, Mistah Connery." "Answer it, then," Connery directed. As the negro started to obey, Connery followed him into the open car. He could see over the negro's shoulder the hand sticking out into the aisle, and this time, at sight of it, Connery started violently. If Dorne had rung, he must have moved; a man who is awake does not let his hand hang out into the aisle. Yet the hand had not moved. Nothing was changed about it since Connery had seen it before. The long, sensitive fingers fell in precisely the same position as before, stiffly separated a little one from another; they had not changed their position at all. "Wait!" Connery seized the porter by the arm. "I'll answer it myself."