at nothing in particular, and the station-master, who was watching the
train go, chanced to meet her glance. Again there was the same smile
and bow, quite mechanical, quite absent-minded, distinctly gracious.
The station-master stared in astonishment after the receding carriage.
The detective roused himself from his reverie sufficiently to step
forward and neatly swing himself into the guard's van: there being
nothing to do in Dover he thought he would go to London.

I believe I have forgotten, in the heat of narration, to say that the
fugitives were bound for Somersetshire. Fritzing had been a great
walker in the days when he lived in England, and among other places
had walked about Somersetshire. It is a pleasant county; fruitful,
leafy, and mild. Down in the valleys myrtles and rhododendrons have
been known to flower all through the winter. Devonshire junkets and
Devonshire cider are made there with the same skill precisely as in
Devonshire; and the parts of it that lie round Exmoor are esteemed by
those who hunt.

Fritzing quite well remembered certain villages buried among the
hills, miles from the nearest railway, and he also remembered the
farmhouses round about these villages where he had lodged. To one of
these he had caused a friend in London to write engaging rooms for
himself and his niece, and there he proposed to stay till they should
have found the cottage the Princess had set her heart on.

This cottage, as far as he could gather from the descriptions she
gave him from time to time, was going to be rather difficult to
find. He feared also that it would be a very insect-ridden place,
and that their calm pursuits would often be interrupted by things
like earwigs. It was to be ancient, and much thatched and latticed