XII
The upshot of the conference was the decision that on the following morning the Moultons should conspicuously enter a third-class carriage of the train bound for Baeza, and while Captain Over, on the platform, talked with Catalina in the doorway, they should slip out of the opposite entrance, cross the track, and take the train for Alcazar. The Alcazar train, the landlord assured them, left two minutes earlier than that for Baeza, so that Catalina, in the confusion of the last moments, could join her relatives unobserved. It was the habit of Jesus Maria to saunter down late, and even then to engage in conversation on the platform. Catalina had told him they intended to spend the following night at Baeza, and he was under the impression they were bound for Seville. Captain Over would take Catalina’s place in the doorway, covering her retreat, and await the rest of his party in Baeza.
It was a programme little to the taste of any of them, but Over heroically proposed it, and it seemed to be the only feasible plan.
In Spain there is apparently no law against crossing the tracks, nor in leaving a train on the wrong side. On the following morning Catalina, having reserved a first-class compartment on the train for Alcazar, the six members of the party, portmanteaus in hand, filed down to the station and entered a third-class carriage on the southern train. In a few moments Over descended leisurely and lit a cigarette. Catalina leaned forward to chat with him, then stood up, her bright, amused glances roving over the country people who were bound for a fair in a town near by. The peasants were interested in themselves and contemptuously indifferent to strangers. The Moultons, including the mystified and angry Lydia, descended and crossed the track unobserved. Catalina, one hand on her portmanteau, was ready to make a dash the moment she heard the familiar drone, “Viajeros al tren.” It might be expected within the next five minutes, and it might be belated for twenty.
“There he comes!” she murmured. “If he should take it into his head to enter the train before it starts! We will tell him the others are late. What a pity you don’t speak Spanish; you could engage him in conversation! He is looking—glowering at me! Do you suppose he suspects?”
“It is not like you to lose your nerve,” began Over, but at the same moment his glance moved from the Catalan’s face to hers, and he smiled. She looked, if anything, more impassive than usual. “My knees are shaking,” she confided to him, “and my heart is galloping. It is rather delightful to be so excited, but still—thank Heaven!” Jesus Maria had met an acquaintance. They lit the friendly cigarito and entered into conversation.
“They are walking down the platform,” said Catalina, anxiously, a moment later, “and the other train is not so far back as this; however, Cousin Lyman will no doubt keep the door shut. There, he’s turning. I’d better make a bolt. Good-bye. Au revoir—”
“Tell me again exactly what I am to do. I don’t want to run any risk of missing you.”
Catalina glanced over her shoulder. There was such a babble, both in the car and on the platform, that it would not be difficult to miss the singsong of the guard. The other train was still there.