“Well, you can thank me at about six or seven o’clock this evening. We shall be in Cracow then, and the papers will be out of our hands and off our minds.”
“And after that?”
“By Jove. I don’t know. I haven’t thought about that. One thing at a time and—Cracow first. We must go.”
We walked up to the station and found a most welcome change in the attitude of the police. Our friend of the preceding night was looking out for us, and he had evidently let it be known that there were gold pieces to be earned. Everybody received us with smiles. Even the man who had acted the inquisitor’s part overnight came up and was almost profuse in his apologies.
He had not known that I was an English milord; my appearance at that time and in such a way had aroused curiosity; duty compelled them all to be suspicious; there were dangerous people about; I had probably heard of the discovered plot; and so on.
I understood. I took out some gold coins and fingered them carelessly. His eyes lighted with greed as he gazed at them.
“About the accident?” I asked.
“There has been a bad accident; but no one of the name of Trevor, no Englishman at all, was in the train. I have made a special investigation,” he added insinuatingly.
“I’m sorry to have given you the trouble; but thank you.”
“It is no trouble, only a pleasure to be of some small service to an English milord.”