"Somebody taken ill, I think," said Dyce, moving towards the door whence the shout had sounded.
He caught a glimpse of a man who had sunk upon the floor of the carriage, and was just being lifted onto the seat by other passengers. Pressing nearer, he saw a face hideously congested, with horrible starting eyes. He drew back, and whispered to May:
"It's Robb! Didn't I tell you that he looked apoplectic."
The girl shrank in fear.
"Are you sure?"
"Perfectly. Stand here a minute, and I'll ask how it happened."
From the talk going on he quickly learnt that Mr. Robb, complaining that he felt faint, had risen, just as the train drew into the station, to open the door and descend. Before anyone could help him, he dropped, and his fellow-travellers shouted. Dyce and May watched the conveyance of the obese figure across the platform to a waiting-room.
"I must know the end of this," said Lashmar, his eyes gleaming.
"You wouldn't have gone further, should you?"
"I suppose not—though I had still a great deal to tell you. Quick! We must get your place."