I had resolved to book myself by that as far as Amiens, for I knew
that, once there, I should have reached a central point or junction, a
sort of throat through which every train moving southward to Paris or
Switzerland must pass.

There remained, of course, the route via Dover by Ostend and through
Brussels; but I had been informed by you that Ludovic Tiler, my
colleague and coworker, was to undertake the inquiry on that line.

It is part of my business to be thoroughly familiar with the
Continental Bradshaw, and I soon ticked off the different trains that
interested me.

There was first the 11 A.M. from Victoria by Dover and
Calais, where it connected with the Paris express and the sleeping-car
Engadine express, both of which run through Amiens, where, however,
the latter branches off to Basle and beyond, with special cars for
Lucerne, Zurich and Coire.

Then came the 2.20 P.M. from Charing Cross to Folkestone, and
so to Boulogne, Amiens and the rest, travelling the same road as the
Engadine express. This was the last of the day service, as it gave
most time, allowing people to start at the very latest moment, and I
felt it quite probable that my lady would prefer to take it.

I reached Amiens a little before 5 P.M., and I had a wait of
half an hour for the first express from Calais. I was greatly
disappointed when at last it appeared issuing from the tunnel, and
passed me where I stood at the commencement of the platform, taking