Old Mat, it was remarked by the porters, was not present; and Monkey Brand, it was also remarked, though at the station, took no part in the proceedings, huddling over the fire in the waiting-room, a desolate little figure of woe.
As the young horse entered his box at a siding, the train from Brighton came into the station.
Silver stepped out of it, a cloak over his arm.
He did not join the little group busy about the box, but made for the solitary figure watching from the far end of the platform.
"Your cloak, Mr. Joses," he said pleasantly.
"Thank you," replied the fat man, cold and casual. "I shall want it at Liverpool."
"You left it behind you last night."
"I did," admitted the other. "I was having a chat with Monkey Brand. And that brute of a dog came for me as I left."
"The bottle you brought's in the pocket," continued Silver.
"Good," said Joses. "I hope there's something in it."