s person
diffused the odours of the drinking bar from which he had just come. The
porter in charge of the cloak-room had run a hostile eye over him as he
deposited his bundle. But now no one observed him; while he, gathered up
and concentrated, like some old wolf upon a trail, followed every
movement of the party entering the Gaddesden car.

George Anderson and his French Canadian friend left the platform last.
As Anderson reached the door of the car he turned back to speak to
Mariette, and his face and figure were clearly visible to the watcher
behind the barred cloak-room door. A gleam of savage excitement passed
over the old man's face; his limbs trembled more violently.

Through the side windows of the car the party could be seen distributing
themselves over the comfortable seats, laughing and talking in groups.
In the dining-room, the white tablecloth spread for tea, with the china
and silver upon it, made a pleasant show. And now two high officials of
the railway came hurrying up, one to shake hands with Lady Merton and
see that all was right, the other to accompany the party.

Elizabeth Merton came out in her white dress, and leant over the
railing, talking, with smiles, to the official left behind. He raised
his hat, the car moved slowly off, and in the group immediately behind
Lady Merton the handsome face and thick fair hair of George Anderson
showed conspicuous as long as the special train remained in sight.

The old man raised himself and noiselessly went out upon the platform.
Outside the station he fell in with a younger man, who had been
apparently waiting for him; a strong, picturesque fellow, with the skin
and countenance of a half-breed.

"Well?" said the younger, impatiently. "Thought you was goin' to take a
bunk there."

"Couldn't get out before. It's all right."

"Don't care if it is," said the other sulkily. "Don't care a damn button
not for you nor anythin' you're after! But you give me my two dollars
sharp, and don't keep me another half-hour waitin'. That's what I
reckoned for, an' I'm goin' to have it." He held out his hand.

The old man fumbled slowly in an inner pocket of his filthy overcoat.

"You say the car's going on to-night?"

"It is, old bloke, and Mr. George Anderson same train--number
ninety-seven--as ever is. Car shunted at Calgary to-morrow night. So
none of your nonsense--fork out! I had a lot o' trouble gettin' you
the tip."

The old man put some silver into his palm