I saw him following the train down the platform when we stopped. He
addressed himself to a little group of conductors who had already
alighted, and were gossiping idly among themselves, having nothing
else to do. One of them indicated our particular attendant, to whom
he spoke, and who brought him directly to our carriage.

Evidently the newcomer was bound for Lucerne _via_ Basle. Here was one
more occupant of our neglected train, another companion and fellow
traveller in our nearly empty sleeping-car. Curiosity and something
more led me to examine this man closely; it was a strange, undefined,
inexplicable sense of foreboding, of fateful forecast, that he and I
were destined to be thrown together unpleasantly, to be much mixed up
with one another, and to the comfort and satisfaction of neither.

Who and what was he? His position in life, his business, trade or
calling were not to be easily fixed; a commercial man, an agent or
"traveller" on his own account, well-to-do and prosperous, was the
notion borne out by his dress, his white waistcoat and coloured shirt
of amazing pattern (a hint of his Italian origin), his rings and the
showy diamond pin in his smart necktie.

I added to this, my first impression, by further observation, for
which I soon had abundant opportunity. When the train moved on, he
came and took his seat on the flap seat (or _strapontin_) just
opposite my compartment. I could not tell why, until presently he
made overtures of sociability and began a desultory talk across the
corridor. My cabin or compartment, it will be remembered, was the last
but one; the newcomer had been given the one behind mine, and here
from his seat he commanded the whole length of the carriage forward,
which included the compartment occupied by Mrs. Blair and her party.