Once on the platform, he paused aghast. The forward half of the train had disappeared, and an engine was backing up in its place to couple on to the second part. Allingford was nowhere in sight.
"Where is the rest of the train?" cried Scarsdale, seizing an astonished guard.
"The forward division, sir?"
"Yes! yes! For Heaven's sake speak, man! Where is it?"
"That was the Exeter division. Went five minutes ago."
"But I thought we had ten minutes!"
"This division, yes, sir," replied the guard, indicating that portion of the train still in the station, "the forward part only five."
In this way, then, had Allingford unconsciously deceived him, and without doubt the American Consul had been carried off with his, Scarsdale's, wife. The awful discovery staggered him, but he controlled himself sufficiently to ask the destination of the section still in the station.
"Bournemouth, sir, Southampton first stop. Are you going? we are just off."
"No," replied Scarsdale. The guard waved his flag, the shrill whistle blew, and the train began to move. Then he thought of Mrs. Allingford; he could scarcely leave her. Besides, what was the use of remaining at Basingstoke, when he did not even know his own destination? He tore open the door of the carriage he had just left, and swung himself in as it swept past him.