"He wants to know if you found a raincoat in that auto he had from you last time he was down? _Raincoat_, waterproof. Do you hear?" "Yes sir, I hear perfect. We’ve got it and I’d ’a’ sent it back but I thought he’d be down again any time and it was just as well to keep it here." "That’s all right. The coat doesn’t matter—but he’s lost a key that does. Thinks maybe he left it in the pocket. Have you found any key?" "I haven’t looked. Hold the wire while I see?" There was a pause while I prayed no one would come in or call up. My prayer was answered. There was nothing to interrupt when I heard the garage man’s voice again: "The key’s there." "Good work! Mr. Cokesbury’s had the house here upside down looking for it. He wants you to do it up careful and give it to Sands the Pullman conductor on the six-twenty to-night. I’ll come across and get it off him at Jersey City." "All right. Will I send the raincoat along, too?" "No, he don’t want that. He’s goin’ to Europe Saturday and I guess he’s calculating to buy a new one. Thanks for your trouble. Good-bye." "Good-bye." I dropped the cam, sat tight, and thought. People kept coming in and out and calls came flashing along the wires and I worked swift and steady like an operator that’s got no thought but for what’s before her. But my mind was working like a steam engine underneath. How could I get him—how could I get him? It was as if I had two brains, one on the top that went mechanical like a watch and one below that was doing the real business. Before the afternoon was over I’d decided on a line of action. I called up Katie Reilly and asked her if she’d relieve me at five-thirty instead of six—that I’d an invitation to go down to a party at Jersey City and I was keen to get there early. She agreed and at six I was on the platform of the station waiting for the New York train. I took a seat in the common coach and at Azalea watched from the window and saw a man on the platform give Sands a packet. I knew Sands well and when he passed back through my car nodded to him and he stopped and stood in the aisle talking. It wasn’t long before I said, careless: "I hear Cokesbury Lodge is for rent." "I ain’t heard it," said Sands, "but I ain’t surprised. Now he’s sent his family away he don’t want a house that size on his hands." "Has he been down lately?" "No—not for—lemme see—it’s several weeks. Yes—the last time was the Sunday before Sylvia Hesketh’s murder." I knew all that but it doesn’t do to jump at what you’re after too quick. "Lucky for him he could prove his car was on the blink that time," I said, looking languid out of the window. "Sure. He and Reddy were the only ones of her fellers within striking distance. But no one ever’d suspicion Cokesbury. He ain’t the murderin’ kind, too jolly and easy. I hear he’s goin’ to Europe." "Is he now? Where’d you hear that?"