"But no," he reflected aloud. "It may be this is a criminal. Are there, perhaps, gendarmes in company with it? It is for the chef de gare—"
But at that moment Hugh, attracted by the rumpus the two startled passengers were making in the corridor, forced his way into the compartment, shoved the guard headlong on the floor and grabbed me by the arm.
"Are you all right, old man?" he cried. "For God's sake, what have they done with you?"
I motioned to the key on the seat, and he fitted it clumsily to the handcuffs. Nikka and Watkins ran in about this time; the guard regained his feet; the two passengers returned; some more people tried to climb on their shoulders to see what was going on; somebody else fetched the police.
To the latter I told a hasty cock-and-bull story. Bandits had assailed me, searched me for valuables which luckily I did not possess, and left me as I was found. I described Toutou and his companion exactly as they had appeared, sardonically convinced that they would be able to take care of themselves against any detectives the French provinces could boast; and the police, impressed by Hugh's title and our assertion that we had an important business engagement in Marseilles, placed no obstacles in the way of our departure.
So the express steamed out of Lyons ten minutes late, and Hugh and Nikka and Watkins escorted me back to our own compartment. And when I reached there, and was safe from observation, I jangled the handcuffs before their eyes and lay back and laughed until they thought I was hysterical.
"It may have been funny for you," snapped Hugh. "It certainly wasn't for us. We were just getting ready to unload at Lyons, convinced that you had been thrown or fallen off the train."
"It's funny for all of us," I insisted, wiping the tears from my eyes. "It's a joke—on us. Don't you see it, Hugh? You were claiming that we had shaken them off, that we could sound the 'Stole Away.' And then they ransacked our baggage and kidnapped me on a crowded train. I tell you they are artists. There never was such a gang. And as for Watty's pretty lady, she is the greatest society villainness outside of the movies. Didn't you feel like a cur when she stood there in the door pulling her poor little undies together, with the hair tumbled in her eyes?"
"I'll say I did," answered Hugh with feeling. "That's score for them again."
Nikka grinned at both of us.