Hers! It was in his hand now, those slim, tapering, wonderfully sensitive fingers of Jimmie Dale, that were an "open sesame" to locks and safes, subconsciously telegraphing to his mind the fact that the texture of the paper--was hers.

Hers! And she must be one of those around him--one of those crowding either the row of seats in front or behind, or one of those just passing in the aisle.

It had fallen at his feet as he had stooped over for his hat--but from just exactly what direction he could not tell.

His eyes, eagerly, hungrily, critically, swept face after face.
Which one was hers?
What irony! She, whom he would have given his life to know, for whom indeed he risked his life every hour of the twenty-four, was close to him now, within reach--and as far removed as though a thousand miles separated them.

She was there--but he could not recognise a face that he had never seen! With an effort, he choked back the bitter, impotent laugh that rose to his lips.