eft no doubt on the matter. I had run my
man down already! I smiled to myself as I contemplated the unconscious
nape of that neck and recalled the gibes of the commercial traveller and
the uncomfortable stare of the man in the corner.

What should I do? The train would stop for two minutes at Bletchley,
and not again until we reached Rugby. Should I lay my hand on his
shoulder at the first place or the second?

I wished I could have dared to retire into my carriage and consult my
timetable about trains back. But the consciousness of the honeymoon
glare at my back glued me to the window. I must inquire at Bletchley
and act accordingly.

We were beginning to put on the break, and show other signs of coming to
a halt, when I was startled by seeing McCrane stand up and put his head
out of the window. I withdrew as hastily as I could; not daring, of
course, to retreat fully into the carriage, but turning my face in an
opposite direction, so as to conceal my identity. I could not guess
whether he had seen me or not, it had all occurred so quickly. If he
had, I might have need of all my strategy to run him to earth.

As the train pulled up I saw him lower his window, and, with anxious
face, make a sudden bolt across the platform.

That was enough for me. I darted out too, much to the satisfaction of
my fellow-travellers.

"When's the next train back to Euston?"

"Take your seats!" bawled the guard, ignoring me.

"When does the next train go to Euston?"

"There's a time-table there."

I went; keeping one eye on the train, another on the spot where my man
had vanished, and feeling a decided inconvenience from the lack of a
third with which to consult the complicated document before me. In a
rash moment I ventured to concentrate my whole attention on the
timetable. I had found Bletchley; and my finger, painfully tracing down
one of the long columns, was coming very near to the required latitude,
when I became aware of a whistle; of a figure, bun in hand, darting from
the refreshment-room to a carriage; of a loud puff from the engine.

I abandoned the time-table, and rushed in the same direction. Alas! the
train was in full motion; a porter was standing forbiddingly between me
and my carriage, and the honeymoon couple were blandly drawing down the
blinds in my very face! Worst of all, I saw the half-profile of Michael
McCrane, inflated with currant bun, vanish; and as the end carriage
whirled past me I r