“Scenery!” I cried with a fine contempt. “Well, I suppose we can’t sit about the station all day. But do as you please;” and she walked out of the station. I could have laughed at the excellent affectation of sisterly discontent.
The police official sympathized with me—it was I who had tipped him—and expressed his feeling with a deprecating smile and shrug and a lifting of the brows.
“I suppose it’s the only thing to do,” I murmured as I rose.
“It is perhaps for the best after all that you did not catch the train. There is you baggage,” he said.
“Baggage?”
“Remembering what you said last night about the accident to your carriage on the way from Vashtic, and thinking you might need the baggage in it, I sent out this morning to have it brought here.”
“Did you? That’s really very friendly and obliging,” I managed to answer quite cordially, while wishing him at the devil for his interference.
“What shall we do with it?”
“Oh, just keep it at the station here till I come back for that evening train. You’ll know it easily. Two leather portmanteaus; one marked ‘R. G.’ and one ‘M. G.,’ London. I’ll go and tell my sister. She’ll be as delighted as I am at your thoughtfulness. It was only that which made her wish to remain here for the day.”
I went after Volna, who was walking toward the little town.