The train attendant brought him his coffee soon after daylight. The man's hands were trembling.
"Where are we?" Bellamy asked sleepily.
"Near Munich, Monsieur," the man answered. "Monsieur noticed, perhaps, that we stopped for some time in the night?"
Bellamy shook his head.
"I sleep soundly," he said. "I heard nothing."
"There has been an accident," the man declared. "An American gentleman who got in at Vienna was drinking whiskey all night and became very drunk. In a tunnel he threw himself out upon the line."
Bellamy shuddered a little. He had been prepared, but none the less it was an awful thing, this.
"You are sure that he is dead?" he asked.
The man was very sure indeed.
"There is a doctor from Vienna upon the train, sir," he said. "He examined him at once, but death must have been instantaneous."
Bellamy drew a long breath and commenced to put on his clothes. The next move was for him.