"Better get in, John, an' don't argy with the gentleman," said Mrs.
Stump.

Her husband obeyed, grudgingly. The inspector examined his ticket, and
Royson's, and locked the door.

"Nice thing!" grumbled Stump. "I can't give you a good-by hug now,
Becky."

This was literally true. The captain's breadth of beam had never been
contemplated by the designers of South-Eastern railway carriages. Even
when the door was open, he had to enter sideways, and the brass rail
across the window rendered it a physical impossibility to thrust head
and shoulders outside.

The shrill whistle of a guard was answered by a colleague.

"Take care of yourself, John," said Becky.

"No fear! And mind you wait till the 'bus stops to-night. The other
evening--"

Royson never learnt what had befallen Mrs. Stump on that other evening.
At the moment the train began to move, he saw a man peeping into the
carriage as if he were looking for some one. He believed it was the
private inquiry agent whom he had shaken off so effectively in Hyde
Park. The gloom of the station, and the fact that the man's face was in
shadow, made him doubtful, but as the train gathered speed, the watcher
on the platform nodded to him and smiled derisively. Captain Stump had
quick eyes. He turned to Royson.