He was a fat, comfortable, chuckling sort of fellow in a brown tweed cap, peering out from an ancient touring-car which had dusty side-curtains flopping at the back. He hospitably held open the door of the front seat, but I got into the back instead.
"If you don't mind," I said. "This crook I told you about will be on the watch. If he sees a policeman, it'll be all up. I'd better keep back here out of sight. You said you were going to the station. Er — are you taking the 11.20 train?"
"Me? Oh, no; no, no, no, no, no," declared the other, with a broad wave of his hand. The car moved away, taking a direction well opposite to Valley Road. "I'm meeting it. My wife gets back from the States to-night. It's a boat-train; at least, it meets the Queen Victoria at Plymouth. Probably won't be on time. Those boat-trains seldom are."
This was good news, although hanging about the station in the open was not a part I cared for My companion took a great deal of interest in the villain who had robbed the Chief Constable, questioning me closely about it, and working himself up into a towering rage over the state of British justice. I was well protected by the dusty side-curtains, and did not fear observation when we passed through the central part of the town. But the station was much further off than I had expected. We dawdled along, while my companion talked genially, and I could almost hear the watch ticking under the Law's coat. Meantime, I was puzzling and stumbling over the question of that £I00 note, thrust away in the leaves of a discarded newspaper. Mrs. Antrim bad said she found it in the scullery — apparently this tallied, for it was a Daily Telegraph dated four days back-but you seldom find people treating £100 notes in this fashion. Therefore Mrs. Antrim had not found the paper in the place she said, or the note had not been in it when she found it, and therefore what?
"By George, she's on time!" said my companion.
We had swung round into the open space before the long, low, dun-roofed station, and the hands of a clock in a low tower pointed to half a minute before 11.20. From some distance away we could hear the whistle of a train, that flying sound which is torn away in the next instant, and the roar behind it. Along the front of the station a few taxicabs — but no Evelyn. Between the two wings of the building, a folding iron gate to the station platform was being rattled open, and a ticket-porter stood in the entrance. - I had not even a penny which would get the ticket entitling me to go out on the platform: still, that did not matter if Evelyn failed to arrive. The great danger was that there might be a real policeman prowling round the station. What I wanted to do was remain in the shelter of the car until I could reconnoitre. But my companion gave me no chance.'
"Is he here?" he whispered hoarsely.
"No. I think"
"Then he's probably out on the platform," said the other. His stout legs, in plus-fours and brown stockings, seemed to twinkle as he hopped out of the car. "I say, this is something to tell the wife and kids!" He threw open the door of the tonneau, showing me up to the eyes of the taxi-drivers and a dispirited porter or two. "Hadn't you better hurry up, old man? I've got to meet the missus in a minute or two, and I'd like to see the end of this before "
There was nothing to do but get out. The faces of the onlookers wavered and changed with interest as I walked across towards the ticket-barrier; several of the curious closed in behind. My companion had hurried ahead, putting his penny into the ticket-machine, giving it a resounding clank, and waddling to join me with an air which roused even more curiosity among the onlookers. Through the barrier I took a quick survey of the platform outside. There were about half a dozen people on it — but no Evelyn. The noise of the approaching train now seemed to make the whole station vibrate; round a curve its headlight crept, broadened, and ran silver along the rails.