To my disappointment, I searched the train from end to end without finding her. But enquiring of the conductor, I learned that the morning train was preferred by ladies. Perhaps—I thought—she had already got off, in which case Garth might bring a note to the Crescent Mountain station. I hoped for Maida's sake it might be so, because if she'd started early she would not have heard of her messenger's fate, and I could break the news to her gently. As for the dead girl's brother, it seemed improbable that he would be informed by telegram. The pair were said by Teano to be alone in the world; and as Garth's evidence wouldn't be needed—anyhow for days to come—in the affair of Anne's murder, he would not be sent for post-haste.
Again I underrated the intelligence of the Enemy.
The train arrived on time at the little mountain station built for clients of the famous Inn. As it was still early in the season (it is only for Christmas that crowds begin going up), I wasn't surprised to find myself alone on the platform. The mountain train (into which I'd changed long ago from the train starting from New York) went no further that night. Snow-covered shoulders and peaks glistened dimly in half-veiled starlight, and I was glad to hear the jingle of bells. A big sledge, capable of carrying several passengers and a little light luggage, was in waiting with a fine team of impatient dogs: but the driver who touched his fur cap with a mittened hand was not the honest-faced country man who had met the released prisoner at Sing Sing.
"You're not Garth!" I exclaimed, when he asked if I were Lord John Hasle, and had been answered affirmatively.
The dim yellow light from the little station building shone into his face, and I thought it changed as if with chagrin. It was not as pleasant a face as the one I remembered. In fact, it was not pleasant at all. The eyes were brave enough, or anyhow bold; but the nose was big and red as if the fellow warmed his chilled blood generously with alcohol. He was older than Anne Garth's brother. The heavy features framed in fur ear-laps might have belonged to a man of forty.
"Oh, yes, I'm Garth," he assured me, in a voice roughened by the same agent which had empurpled his nose.
"You're not the Garth I've seen," I persisted.
"That may be," he admitted. "We're brothers. I'm a bit older than Larry. He had to go to New York. Between the two of us, we do the driving for the Crescent Inn."
This explanation was good enough, if Teano was wrong about the family. "Have you a note for me?" I asked.
"No note," was the reply. "But you're expected at the Inn all right."