As the fly came in sight of the station, Paul had the satisfaction of seeing the last train for London slowly puff and snort its way along its destined iron track.
“Wait here until I come back,” he said to the coachman, and then rushed into the station.
“Did a lady dressed in black take a ticket here just now?” he asked of the ticket-clerk.
“No, sir.”
Paul Desfrayne looked about for one of the porters. After a little delay he found one half-asleep on a bench, for the last trains had departed for the night. He shook the man by the shoulder.
“Did you see a lady dressed in black just now? I believe she must have gone by the train to London, and must have had a return ticket.”
“I was not here when the train for London left, sir,” replied the man respectfully. “The other porter was on duty—I was in the office.”
“Where is he?” demanded Paul Desfrayne.
He seemed destined to be baffled at every turn.
“I’m afraid he’s gone, sir.”