With the starting of the train a sustained and confidential conversation became impracticable, nor did either of the fellow travelers seem inclined for one; but as they sped southward the Senator found plenty of food for reflection in his companion’s behavior. To the experienced American eye the outline of a pistol was plainly apparent in the breast-pocket of the Duke, whose fingers never strayed far from that receptacle—an attitude which was always more distinctly marked during the infrequent stoppages. Except when it was distracted into a swift and nervous glance round by a movement of one of the other passengers, the Duke’s gaze was always focused on the precious box which the Senator carried on his lap.
“Either he means to rob me himself, or he is scared lest someone else will,” was the Senator’s conclusion.
But the journey came to an end without either of these consummations being arrived at or even attempted, and the sight of the coroneted carriage and the ducal liveries at Tarrant Road station removed the Senatov’s last lingering doubt as to the Duke’s identity. And, twenty minutes later, when, still hugging his
[279]
