The conductor grew pale, and got into the conveyance beside his companion.
"Look! that's blood," the latter said, pointing to the floor.
"You're joking," the other replied incredulously, bending down to examine it.
"'Pon my honor I'm not. There's some on my hand here. Besides, his heart doesn't beat."
Leaning hastily forward, the conductor pressed his hand to the passenger's breast. He quickly withdrew it, admitting that such indeed was the case.
"But what can be wrong with him, Ted? He looks like a gentleman," he added in amazement.
"I can't tell. In this 'ere light it's impossible to see."
Striking a vesta, the conductor held it close to the man's coat. As it shed its light in fitful gleams, their eager eyes at once discerned a small hole in the breast, from which blood was slowly oozing.
Both drew back in dismay.
"He's been stabbed!" the man who held the match exclaimed in a low, terrified voice. "See, the overcoat must have been opened first, as it isn't pierced."
The victim had been wounded in the heart, struck by a steady hand, and evidently with great violence.
They stood aghast at the horrifying discovery.
"What do you think of it. Bill?" asked the old driver timorously.
"Murder, without a doubt."
"I wonder whether this will give any clue to the murderer?" the elder man said, picking up the handkerchief.
It was a lady's—a small square of fine cambric with a delicate border of lace.
"Let's look," exclaimed his companion, taking it in his hands, and holding it to the lamp.
