The Vanished Messenger

by E. Phillips Oppenheim




CHAPTER I


There were very few people upon Platform Number Twenty-one of
Liverpool Street Station at a quarter to nine on the evening
of April 2--possibly because the platform in question is one of
the most remote and least used in the great terminus. The
station-master, however, was there himself, with an inspector in
attendance. A dark, thick-set man, wearing a long travelling
ulster and a Homburg hat, and carrying in his hand a brown leather
dressing-case, across which was painted in black letters the name
MR. JOHN P. DUNSTER, was standing a few yards away, smoking a
long cigar, and, to all appearance absorbed in studying the
advertisements which decorated the grimy wall on the other side of
the single track. A couple of porters were seated upon a barrow
which contained one solitary portmanteau. There were no signs of
other passengers, no other luggage. As a matter of fact, according
to the time-table, no train was due to leave the station or to
arrive at it, on this particular platform, for several hours.

Down at the other end of the platform the wooden barrier was thrust
back, and a porter with some luggage upon a barrow made his noisy
approach. He was followed by a tall young man in a grey tweed suit