But with this thought came another and a more manly one—­the woman he loved was in Angels, and she would doubtless remain in Angels or its immediate vicinity for some time; that was unpreventable; but he could still resolve that there should not be a repetition of the old tragedy of the moth and the candle.  It was well that at the very outset a duty call had come to enable him to break the spell of her nearness, and it was also well that he had decided not to disregard it.

The train conductor’s “All aboard!” shouted on the platform just below his window, drew his attention from the Nadia and the distracting thought of Eleanor’s nearness.  Train 205 was ready to resume its westward flight, and the locomotive bell was clanging musically.  A half-grown moon, hanging low in the black dome of the night, yellowed the glow of the platform incandescents.  The last few passengers were hurrying up the steps of the cars, and the conductor was swinging his lantern in the starting signal for the engineer.

At the critical moment, when the train was fairly in motion, Lidgerwood saw Hallock—­it was unmistakably Hallock this time—­spring from the shadow of a baggage-truck and whip up to the step of the smoker, and a scant half-second later he saw Judson race across the wide platform and throw himself like a self-propelled projectile against and through the closing doors of the vestibule at the forward end of the sleeper.

Judson’s dash and his capture of the out-going train were easily accounted for:  he had seen Hallock.  But where was Hallock going?  Lidgerwood was still asking himself the question half-abstractedly when he crossed to his desk and touched the buzzer-push which summoned an operator from the despatcher’s room.

“Wire Mr. Pennington Flemister, care of Goodloe, at Little Butte, that I am coming out with my car, and should be with him by eleven o’clock.  Then call up the yard office and tell Matthews to let me have the car and engine by eight-thirty, sharp,” he directed.

The operator made a note of the order and went out, and the superintendent settled himself in his desk-chair for another hour’s hard work with the stenographer.  At twenty-five minutes past eight he heard the wheel-grindings of the up-coming service-car, and the weary short-hand man snapped a rubber band upon the notes of the final letter.

“That’s all for to-night, Grady, and it’s quite enough,” was the superintendent’s word of release.  “I’m sorry to have to work you so late, but I’d like to have those letters written out and mailed before you lock up.  Are you good for it?”

“I’m good for anything you say, Mr. Lidgerwood,” was the response of the one who was loyal to his salt, and the superintendent put on his light coat and went out and down the stair.

At the outer door he turned up the long platform, instead of down, and walked quickly to the Nadia, persuading himself that he must, in common decency, tell the president that he was going away; persuading himself that it was this, and not at all the desire to warm his hands at the ungrateful fire of Eleanor’s mockery, that was making him turn his back for the moment upon the waiting special train.