"Not just yet, Mr. Elliston," said Harry. "I wish to ask you a few
questions."
"Well?"
"What do you know of the murder of Arnold Nicholson on the midnight
express, south of Chicago, some weeks ago?"
"I read of it, of course."
Mr. Elliston pulled nervously at his glove as he answered.
"What do you know of the disappearance of Captain Osborne and the
death of his daughter?" persisted Bernard.
"Do you suppose I have nothing to do but answer such nonsensical
questions?" demanded Elliston, angrily. "Open this door and let me
pass out."
"Not yet. I wish to tell you a little story, Mr. Elliston."
"I haven't time to listen."
"Nevertheless, you must take the time," said Harry Bernard, sternly.
"Don't attempt to make trouble, sir; you will get the worst of it if
you do."
There was a glitter in the eyes of the speaker that was not pleasant
to see.
Mr. Elliston sank to a chair, and with an air of resignation said:
"Well, well, this is impudent, but I will listen if it will gratify
you."
"It certainly will. I wish to start out with the assertion that you DO
know something about the crime on the midnight express, and I will try
and convince you that _I_ know what part you acted in the murder of
one of the best men in the service of the express company.
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