tired of waiting about at the side of the line. Can you give me shelter for the night?”
“If you’ll please to walk in, sir, I’ll see what can be done,” came the reply of the hospitable keeper. “I’ve got one of the passengers in here already.”
The next moment there appeared in the doorway of the kitchen the tall man who had hectored the guard at Elstree station and who had afterwards been joined by the spy, Marker, at Radlett. Whatever his purpose, he was plainly not disposed to lay aside his air of self-importance as yet. He glanced superciliously at Beaumanoir, and promptly appropriated the chair which the latter had risen from at the first alarm. Loyal to his own county, this was more than Mayne could stand; he hastened to effect a one-sided introduction.
“Beg pardon, sir, but you’ve taken the Duke’s chair,” he said. “This gentleman is his Grace the Duke of Beaumanoir.”
The newcomer rose with alacrity. “Sorry, I’m sure,” he said, taking another seat. “We are companions in misfortune, Duke, if, as I understand, you were traveling in that wretched 8.45 from St. Pancras.”
[186]
