The train was slowing a little. Felix looked out of the window.
“We are nearing Crewe,” he said. “I shall alight then and return to London. You are for America, then?”
“Beyond doubt,” Mr. Sabin declared.
Felix drew from his pocket a letter.
“If you will deliver this for me,” he said, “you will do me a kindness, and you will make a pleasant acquaintance.”
Mr. Sabin glanced at the imprescription. It was addressed to—
“Mrs. J. B. Peterson,
“Lenox,
“Mass., U.S.A.”
“I will do so with pleasure,” he remarked, slipping it into his dressing-case.
“And remember this,” Felix remarked, glancing out at the platform along which they were gliding. “You are a marked man. Disguise is useless for you. Be ever on your guard. You and I have been enemies, but after all you are too great a man to fall by the hand of a German assassin. Farewell!”