der them, and the arch of
the station roof against the night sky, and then swiftly stepped across
the carriage and gently opened the door on the wrong side. By the time
the train was fairly at rest, the door had been as quietly closed again
and the man was picking his way over the sleepers in the darkness, past
the guard's van and away from the station and publicity. Certainly he
had succeeded in achieving a singularly economical and private journey.

For a few minutes he continued to walk back along the line, and then
after a wary look all round him, he sprang up the low bank at the side,
threw his leg over a wire fence, and with infinite care began to make
his way across a stubble field. As he approached the wall on the further
side of the field his precautions increased. He listened intently,
crouched down once or twice, and when at last he reached the wall, he
peered over it very carefully before he mounted and dropped on the other
side.

"Well," he murmured, "I'm here, by God, at last!"

He was standing now in a road on the outskirts of the town. On the one
hand it led into a dim expanse of darkened country; on the other the
lights of the town twinkled. Across the road, a few villas stood back
amidst trees, with gates opening on to a footpath, the outlying houses
of the town; and the first lamp-post stood a little way down this path.
The man crossed the road and turned townwards, walking slowly and
apparently at his ease. What seemed to interest him now was not his own
need for privacy but the houses and gates he was passing. At one open
gate in particular he half paused and then seemed to spy something ahead
that altered his plans. Under a lamp-post a figure appeared to be
lingering, and at the sight of this, the man drew his hat still more
closely over his face and moved on.

As he drew near the lamp the forms of two youths became manifest,
apparently loitering there idly. The man kept his eyes on the ground,
passed them at a brisk walk and went on his way into the town.

"Damn them!" he muttered.

This incident seemed to have deranged his plans a little for his
movements during the next half hour were so purposeless as to suggest
that he was merely putting in time. Down one street and up another he
walked, increasing his pace when he had to pass any fellow walkers, and
then again falling slow at certain corners and looking round him
curiously as though those dark lanes and half-lit streets were
reminiscen