At the junction he sent a telegram to O'Malley: Made peace with D. M. Returning to-night. May have to leave again at once. Will call up if time. PETE. He had considered telegraphing Morris from the same place, but had decided against it. "I only have a hunch that I know where to look," he thought. "Better not raise hopes till I'm sure. It's a damn shame to keep him in suspense, but I don't see any other way.... No, I'll let it ride as is for the present." The afternoon waned, the sun went down in a mass of soft clouds, and night came stealing on. The train was badly lighted, but Peter did not mind. He had no wish to read. He had plenty to occupy his mind, and it did not matter to him that the train was not due until after ten o'clock. What he had to do in town would better be done late at night. "Just so I get there before midnight," thought Peter, glancing, absently, at his watch--"Nine-forty-five--Nine!----Why, we must be----" He had changed cars at the junction and had been able there to get a window seat. It had become cold and damp after sunset, and he had closed the window. Now he made a shadow, with his hand, upon the glass, and looked out. He could see nothing; not a light or other sign of human habitation, and suddenly he realized that the train was running very slowly. "I wonder what's up?" he thought, slightly troubled but not yet anxious. "Guess I'll see if I can find out." He stepped cautiously over the feet of an elderly man who was slumbering noisily in the other half of the seat, made his way down the dull and smoky aisle, and gained the platform. Stepping down one step, he clung to the hand rail and leaned far out. Fog. Fog everywhere, thick and gray. The lights from the coaches fell on it as on an opaque veil of floating gauze. Peter, cursing inwardly, went forward into the smoking car. Here he found men hanging out of open windows, looking down the track, and exchanging speculations. Just then the conductor came through, a lantern swinging by his side. "What's up?" said Peter, addressing him anxiously. "Little foggy," said the conductor, passing rapidly forward. "Oh, he won't tell you nothing," said a man in the seat near which Peter was standing. "They're always mum as an oyster when there's any trouble. They say there's a wreck ahead." "Oh, my God!" ejaculated Peter, in a tone which was half profanity, half prayer. He looked again at his watch. They were due in five minutes now, but were still, obviously, far from their destination. "The doors will be closed at twelve o'clock," thought Peter, "and if I'm too late----" Just then the train came to a grinding stop. Peter hurried to the door and down the steps. He paused on the bottom one and, hanging on to the hand rail, swung out so that he could see down the line.