him. He had excited interest. In Philip Romilly's eyes there was
something even more than interest. It seemed almost as though he were
trying to project his thoughts back and conjure up for himself the very
scene which was being described to him. The young man was certainly in a
very delicate state of health, Mr. Greene decided.

"You are keeping us in suspense, sir," the elderly lady complained,
leaning forward in her place. "Please go on. What happened when they came
out?"

"That," Mr. Raymond Greene said impressively, "is the point of the
story. The train remained standing there, as I have said, for several
minutes--as many minutes, in fact, as it would have taken them seconds to
have traversed that tunnel. Notwithstanding that, they neither of them
appeared again. I sat there, believe me, with my eyes fastened upon that
path, and when the train started I leaned out of the window until we had
rounded the curve and we were out of sight, but I never saw either of
those two men again. Now there's the beginning of a film story for you!
What do you want more than that? There's dramatic interest, surprise, an
original situation."

"After all, I suppose the explanation was quite a simple one," Mr. Busby
remarked. "They were probably acquaintances, and they stayed to have a
chat."

Mr. Raymond Greene shook his head doubtfully.

"All I can say to that is that it was a queer place to choose for a
little friendly conversation," he pronounced. "They were both tall
men--about the same height, I should say--and it would have been