At last we reached the forward car, and here I felt sure that I would catch sight of Mr. Norton, but I was mistaken. He was nowhere to be seen. I was thoroughly puzzled, and the conductor saw the look of dismay upon my face. “Well, where is the man?” he asked. “I don’t see him,” I replied faintly. “Maybe he has left the train.” “Let me take another look.” “Go ahead. We’ll have to pass Flanders, though.” “And how far is the next station?” “Landown, three miles.” I started from the front platform and walked slowly on to the very last. But I was again unsuccessful, and so notified the conductor. “If he was on, he must have jumped off when you caught hold,” said that official. I could not understand it. I was morally certain that Mr. Norton was on the train. Had he in any way disguised himself? Suddenly I thought of the man who had impressed me so strangely. I jumped to my feet. “I think I know where he is!” I exclaimed. “Please come with me.” “What do you mean?” “I think he is in disguise.” “Oh, I see,” returned the conductor of the train. I led the way to the second car. The man with the heavy beard sat looking out of the window. I tapped him on the shoulder. CHAPTER XXIX. MR. NORTON’S ACCUSATION. “Mr. Norton!” I exclaimed as the man turned around. He started as if shot, then straightened up, and looked at me coldly. “My name is not Norton,” he replied in a low-pitched tone. “My name is Edwards.” “Scarcely,” I returned. “You are Mr. Enos Norton.” “That is a cool assertion, young man.” “Rather cool, but nevertheless true,” I replied boldly; for his voice reassured me. “Anybody would agree with me, I think, that a man ought to know his own name best,” he replied pompously. “That is true, and you know your name is Norton.” “Edwards, sir; Stephen Edwards from Newark.” “Mighty queer the boy is so positive you are somebody else,” put in the conductor. “Evidently the boy is a fool,” puffed the man, as he drew himself up. “Yet I am not such a fool as to be deceived by you,” I returned warmly. “Easy there, boy, or I will hand you over to――” “Rather say that I will do the handing over,” I interrupted. And to finish the farce, I reached out and pulled on the heavy beard. It came off without much trouble, and Mr. Norton was revealed to the gaze of the half-dozen passengers who had listened to our conversation. “What do you mean by doing that?” he cried, catching me by the arm. There was quite a titter of laughter among the people around. “It means that I have exposed you,” I replied. “This is Mr. Enos Norton,” I went on in a loud voice. “He is wanted by the police at Bayport for the robbery of some diamonds.” This announcement created quite a stir. “It’s a lie!” roared Mr. Norton. “I am a jeweler from Newark.” “What are you wearing a false beard for?” asked the conductor.