Archbishop of York will always
find me," he replied; and as if unwilling to let his emotion be observed,
he immediately put his head out of the window and called on the coachman
to stop.

"Good-bye," he whispered, tenderly, squeezing her fingers with one hand
and opening the door with the other.

"Don't quite forget me," she whispered back.

"Never!" he replied, and was in the act of getting out when he suddenly
turned, and exclaimed, "I must be more out of practice than I thought; I
had almost forgotten the protested salute."

And without further preamble the Lady Alicia found herself kissed at last.

He jumped out and shut the door, and the carriage with its faint halo
clattered into the darkness.

"They are wonderfully alike," he reflected.

About twenty minutes later he walked leisurely into Ashditch Junction, and
having singled out the station-master, he accosted him with an air of
beneficient consideration and inquired how soon he could catch a train for
London.

It appeared that the up express was not due for nearly three-quarters of
an hour.

"A little too long to wait," he said to himself, as he turned up the
collar of his purloined fur coat to keep out the cold, and picked another
cigar from its rightful owner's case.

By way of further defying the temperature and cementing his acquaintance
with the station-master, he offered to regale that gratified official with
such refreshments as the station bar provided. In the consumption of
whiskies-and-sodas (a beverage difficult to obtain in any quantity at
Clankwood) Mr Beveridge showed himself as accomplished as in every other
feat. In thirty-five minutes he had despatched no fewer than six, besides
completely winning the station-master's heart. As he had little more than
five minutes now to wait, he bade a genial farewell to the lady behind the
bar, and started to purchase his ticket.

Hardly had he left the door of the refreshment-room when he perceived an
uncomfortably familiar figure just arrived, breathless with running, on
the opposite platform. The light of a lamp fell on his shining face: it
was Moggridge!

A stout heart might be forgiven for sinking at the sight, but Mr Beveridge
merely turned to his now firm friends and said with his easiest air, "On
the opposite platform I perceive one of my runaway lunatics. Bring a
couple of stout porters as quickly as you can, for he is a person of much
strength and address. My name," he drew a card-cas