"That's all, is it?" I asked.
"That's all—or, no, there's something else. About noon that day one of the Carter twins came down with a note from him asking me to send a long-distance message to some one in Washington."
"To whom?" I asked eagerly.
"I reckon I've forgot the name, but the message was that this fellow—Sullivan was his name was at M, and if the man had escaped from the wreck would he come to see him."
"He wouldn't have sent that message to me," I said to McKnight, rather crestfallen. "He'd have every object in keeping out of my way."
"There might be reasons," McKnight observed judicially. "He might not have found the papers then."
"Was the name Blakeley?" I asked.
"It might have been—I can't say. But the man wasn't there, and there was a lot of noise. I couldn't hear well. Then in half an hour down came the other twin to say the gentleman was taking on awful and didn't want the message sent."
