to the world while we tug at the underhand levers in our secret
moments. Good night! Good luck!"




CHAPTER VIII

Richard Hamel, although he certainly had not the appearance of a
person afflicted with nerves, gave a slight start. For the last
half-hour, during which time the train had made no stop, he had
been alone in his compartment. Yet, to his surprise, he was
suddenly aware that the seat opposite to him had been noiselessly
taken by a girl whose eyes, also, were fixed with curious
intentness upon the broad expanse of marshland and sands across
which the train was slowly making its way. Hamel had spent a great
many years abroad, and his first impulse was to speak with the
unexpected stranger. He forgot for a moment that he was in England,
travelling in a first-class carriage, and pointed with his left hand
towards the sea.

"Queer country this, isn't it?" he remarked pleasantly. "Do you
know, I never heard you come in. It gave me quite a start when I
found that I had a fellow-passenger."

She looked at him with a certain amount of still surprise, a look
which he returned just as steadfastly, because even in those few
seconds he was conscious of that strange selective interest,
certainly unaccounted for by his own impressions of her appearance.
She seemed to him, at that first glance, very far indeed from being