"The bell from Father's berth. I thought you knew. It rang some time before Father was found--some few minutes before; the porter did not hear it, but the pointer was turned down. They have tested it, and it cannot be jarred down or turned in any way except by means of the bell." Eaton looked away from her, then back again rather strangely. "I would not attach too much importance to the bell," he said. "Father could not have rung it; Dr. Sinclair says that is impossible. So its being rung shows that some one was at the berth, some one must have seen Father lying there and--and rung the bell, but did not tell any one about Father. That could hardly have been an innocent person, Mr. Eaton." "Or a guilty one, Miss Santoine, or he would not have rung the bell at all." "I don't know--I don't understand all it might mean. I have tried not to think about anything but Father." "Is that all they have learned?" "No; they have found the weapon." "The weapon with which your father was struck?" "Yes; the man who did it seems not to have realized that the train was stopped--or at least that it would be stopped for so long--and he threw it off the train, thinking, I suppose, we should be miles away from there by morning. But the train didn't move, and the snow didn't cover it up, and it was found lying against the snowbank this afternoon. It corresponds, Dr. Sinclair says, with Father's injuries." "What was it?" "It seems to have been a bar of metal--of steel, they said, I think, Mr. Eaton--wrapped in a man's black sock." "A sock!" Eaton's voice sounded strange to himself; he felt that the blood had left his cheeks, leaving him pale, and that the girl must notice it. "A man's sock!" Then he saw that she had not noticed, for she had not been looking at him. "It could be carried in that way through the sleepers, you know, without attracting attention," she observed. Eaton had controlled himself. "A sock!" he said again, reflectively. He felt suddenly a rough tap upon his shoulder, and turning, he saw that Donald Avery had come out upon the platform and was standing beside him; and behind Avery, he saw Conductor Connery. There was no one else on the platform. "Will you tell me, Mr. Eaton--or whatever else your name may be--what it is that you have been asking Miss Santoine?" Avery demanded harshly. Eaton felt his blood surge at the tone. Harriet Santoine had turned, and sensing the strangeness of Avery's manner, she whitened. "What is it, Don?" she cried. "What is the matter? Is something wrong with Father?" "No, dear; no! Harry, what has this man been saying to you?" "Mr. Eaton?" Her gaze went wonderingly from Avery to Eaton and back again. "Why--why, Don! He has only been asking me what we had found out about the attack on Father!"