"Hold on, though," he cried, pursing his lips in a low whistle. "Watty, you packed this bag. Don't you usually put razors at the bottom?"
"Yes, your ludship."
"They're on top now. So are my brushes. Everything in order, but— What do you say to giving this train a look-over, Jack? If there are any familiar faces aboard we ought to be able to spot them. Nikka, you and Watty can mount guard here and protect each other until we come back."
Our car was about in the middle of the train, and at my suggestion, Hugh went forward, while I followed the corridor toward the rear. I examined carefully the few persons standing and talking in the corridors, and violated Rule One of European traveling etiquette by poking my head into every compartment door which was open. But I did not see any one who looked at all like any of the members of Toutou's gang whom I knew. In fact, the passengers were the usual lot one sees on a Continental through-train.
I was returning and had reached the rear end of our car when I heard a scream just behind me and a door crashed open. I turned involuntarily. A woman in black, with a veil flying around her pale face, ran into the corridor, hesitated and then seized me by the arm.
"Oh, Monsieur! My husband! He is so ill," she cried in French. "He dies at this moment. I pray you, have you a flask?"
The tears were streaming from her eyes; her face was convulsed with grief. I reached for my flask.
"Calm yourself, madame," I said. "Do you take this. I will ask the guard to help in finding a physician."
"Oh, no, no," she protested. "He has fallen. He is so heavy I cannot lift him. And he dies, monsieur! Oh, mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!"
I slipped past her into the compartment, flask in hand. One of the electrics was on, and by its light I discerned the body of a man huddled face down on the floor in the midst of a litter of baggage and wraps. I dropped the flask on one of the seats, and leaned over to hoist the man up. As I did so she reëntered and closed the door, still babbling brokenly in French.