They fell again into musing, and the rest of their talk was mainly about the arrangements for the morrow.
About the time that Ivy Glazzard was going home, her uncle left Polterham by train. He travelled some thirty miles, and alighted at a large station, which, even thus late, was full of noise and bustle. After drinking a cup of coffee in the refreshment-room, he crossed to another platform, and then paced up and down for a quarter of an hour, until the ringing of a bell gave notice that a train which he awaited was just arriving. It steamed into the station, and Glazzard's eye, searching among the passengers who got out, quickly recognized a tall, thin figure.
"So, here you are," he said, holding his hand to Northway, who smiled doubtfully, and peered at him with sleepy eyes. "I have a room at the station hotel—come along."
They were presently at their ease in a sitting-room, with a hot supper on the table. Northway ate heartily; his entertainer with less gusto, though he looked in excellent spirits, and talked much of the impending elections. The meal dismissed, Glazzard lit a cigar (Northway did not smoke) and broached the topic of their meeting.
"Now, what I am going to propose to you may seem disagreeable. I take it for granted that we deal honourably—for my own purpose is nothing to be ashamed of; and if, after hearing what I ask, you don't care to undertake it, say so at once, and there's no harm done."
"Well, let me know what it is?" replied the other, plucking at his throat.
"Plainly then, I am engaged in election work. My motives are political."
"Oh!"
"The man of whom we spoke the other day is standing as candidate for a borough not very far from here—not this town. Not long ago I discovered that secret of his private life. I am going to use it against him—to floor him with this disgrace. You understand?"
"Which side is he?"