Spoils of the Shadow

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THE Southern States Limited was clicking northward across Virginia. Forty minutes out of Quantico, the fast train was nearing the end of its run. Passengers on the observation platform were moving into the car, in anticipation of the arrival at Washington.

One person alone remained upon the platform. Tall, quiet in bearing, this passenger was gazing reflectively back along the tracks that seemed to sweep from beneath the speeding limited. In the fading light of late afternoon, his countenance showed with the clearness of chiseled marble.

A strange gem glowed firelike upon the passenger’s left hand as fingers plucked a cigarette from immobile lips. Keen eyes burned from either side of a hawklike nose as the strange personage let his gaze follow the swiftly moving scenery. Then the faint semblance of a smile showed upon the lips which had been inflexible.

From among the signboards that lined this section of the railroad, the lingering passenger had spied one that stood out even in the dwindling light. It was an advertisement that proclaimed the merits of a popular low-priced automobile: the Paragon Eight.

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