of the last Pullmans. Rather, he encountered me, reaching out and dragging me in behind the curtains.
"Now what have you found out?" he went after me with his delightful tact.
"She's a charming girl," I assured him. "I called at her compartment, as you suggested, and pretended we had mutual acquaintances and got away with it."
"You probably did not," said Dibley, to take me down from the hang-over of satisfaction which he detected on me.
"She let you in because you look easy. What did she tell you?"
"She's a low opinion of Sin Lewis."
"Who?" said Dibley.
"But she's keen on Miss Cather."
"Who?"
Sin Lewis, so put to him, seemed to suggest somebody, possibly one of similar name who was on Dib's list for rum-running or using the mails to defraud; but Cather wasn't on his cards at all.
"They write books," I explained. "We started talking about books." I thought it just as well to use the truth as long as possible.
"Books!" he jeered me.
