stark and white, that death was instantly suggested to Ralph's mind.
His eyes, becoming accustomed to the half-veiled light filtered through the dirt-crusted panes of the skylight, made out that the figure on the floor was that of a boy.
As he riveted his glance, Ralph further discovered that it was the same boy he had met at the depot the morning previous—the mysterious "dead-head" under the trucks of the 10.15 train.
He lay upon the rough boards face upwards, his limbs stretched out naturally, but stiff and useless-looking.
The rain had soaked his garments, and he must have lain there at least since last midnight. Ralph was shocked and uncertain. Then an abrupt thought made him tremble and fear.
The ball lay by the boy's side. Right above one temple was the dark circular outline of a depression.
It flashed like lightning through Ralph's mind that the stranger had been struck by the ball.
The theory forced itself upon him that in hiding from the pursuing depot watchman, the stranger had sought refuge in the factory.
He might have quite naturally needed a rest after his long and torturing ride on truck and crossbar—he must have been in this room when
