“At the time of the collision you were in rather a hole,” she went on, looking at me with a disagreeable smile. “You were, if I remember, accused of a rather atrocious crime. There was a lot of corroborative evidence, was there not? I seem to remember a dirk and the murdered man’s pocket-book in your possession, and a few other things that were—well, rather unpleasant.” I was thrown a bit off my guard. “You remember also,” I said quickly, “that a man disappeared from the car, taking my clothes, papers and everything.” “I remember that you _said_ so.” Her tone was quietly insulting, and I bit my lip at having been caught. It was no time to make a defense. “You have missed one calculation,” I said coldly, “and that is, the discovery of the man who left the train.” “You have found him?” She bent forward, and again I regretted my hasty speech. “I knew it; I said so.” “We are going to find him,” I asserted, with a confidence I did not feel. “We can produce at any time proof that a man left the Flier a few miles beyond the wreck. And we can find him, I am positive.” “But you have not found him yet?” She was clearly disappointed. “Well, so be it. Now for our bargain. You will admit that I am no fool.” I made no such admission, and she smiled mockingly. “How flattering you are!” she said. “Very well. Now for the premises. You take to Pittsburg four notes held by the Mechanics’ National Bank, to have Mr. Gilmore, who is ill, declare his indorsement of them forged. “On the journey back to Pittsburg two things happen to you: you lose your clothing, your valise and your papers, including the notes, and you are accused of murder. In fact, Mr. Blakeley, the circumstances were most singular, and the evidence—well, almost conclusive.” I was completely at her mercy, but I gnawed my lip with irritation. “Now for the bargain.” She leaned over and lowered her voice. “A fair exchange, you know. The minute you put those four notes in my hand—that minute the blow to my head has caused complete forgetfulness as to the events of that awful morning. I am the only witness, and I will be silent. Do you understand? They will call off their dogs.” My head was buzzing with the strangeness of the idea. “But,” I said, striving to gain time, “I haven’t the notes. I can’t give you what I haven’t got.” “You have had the case continued,” she said sharply. “You expect to find them. Another thing,” she added slowly, watching my face, “if you don’t get them soon, Bronson will have them. They have been offered to him already, but at a prohibitive price.” “But,” I said, bewildered, “what is your object in coming to me? If Bronson will get them anyhow—” She shut her fan with a click and her face was not particularly pleasant to look at. “You are dense,” she said insolently. “I want those papers—for myself, not for Andy Bronson.”