They never spoke to each other in the station; they looked at the advertisements, perused the time-tables, and made themselves as little in the way as possible.
One evening, about five, Mr. Turvey, the guard of the Continental mail, came out of one of the offices and went across the road to a public-house.
One of the gentlemen had preceded him. He was a dark gentleman with a hook nose. He found himself accidentally standing by Turvey at the bar.
‘Fine afternoon, sir,’ said the guard.
‘Very,’ answered the gentleman.
They looked about them cautiously, to see that no one was listening to them or observing them, and then the guard whispered hurriedly:
‘We carry twenty thousand to-night.’
The dark man nodded his head. Two glasses of ale on the counter were rapidly emptied, the guard went back to the station, and the gentleman strolled across the bridge.
Singularly enough, the other two gentlemen had previously crossed the water.
The dark gentleman passed right between them, and muttered, ‘Twenty thousand pounds to-night.’